Beaches of little virtue
Tomorrow we will touch the Landing beaches. Our thoughts of fury will be joined by those who have walked this sand, redden with their own blood. For now, we are progressing slowly, because by gusts, sea sprays whip like ropes, some impede us in childhood memories. All the water of the sea plays with this infallible law of repetition to overcome our resistance. Under the trance of effort and nostrils-wiping water dust pleasure, we protect ourselves from the omens of greater misfortunes. The ocean has this failing of transforming us into nonchalant travelers. Our destinies of survivors are suddenly lacking in stature.