Good Morning From The Sea of Gaza
In the morning, they went down to the sea. None of them seemed to think of the sea as anything than grand; it was simply the nearest place that was still open to them. They stepped into the water, pushing and laughing, and then the waves began to come towards them, one after another. Their clothes grew wet and clung to their bodies, while their voices mingled with the sound of the water.
On the shore, the small things remained behind: an overturned shoe, a bottle of water, a towel too small for anyone. They moved a little farther into the sea, running whenever a wave came close, then turning back toward it as though they had known it all their lives.

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