The sun was sagging in the day old sky and dirty bottomed clouds wearily moved across the fading blue.  He walked slowly, his sandals squeaking leather against leather as he crunched along the sand of the dunes.  A gull clacked overhead and he looked up at its slow breeze supported flight, before settling his gaze on the tired lapping waves of the ocean. 

The map of his life was etched deep in his weathered face. Every success, every failure embossed there as his trophy.  He pulled off his glasses rubbing the reddened patches where they had sat across the bridge of his nose and settled them atop his frosted head.  He held a small stick smoothed by the ceaseless ebb and flow of the ocean in gnarled fingers.  He tosses it in play as his dog runs quickly ahead to chase it down.  He smiles and waits, scratching a day's stubble on his chin. 

He stands watching his dog, chuckling at his play as a Sandpiper plays his never ending game of catch with the surf.  The sky grew darker and he called out.  His dog immediately returned to his side.  Together they moved through the path that parted the Sawgrass and the grey weathered shingle house smiled out.  Lights glowing in the windows of the dimming light were warm and comforting.  The aged nets lay with their sun faded floats along the house edge like a seaman's garden. Patting the top of his companions whitening fur, the sun winked and slid into slumber as they finished their walk, slow and steady, squeaking leather on leather…home.