Left. Right. Left. Right.

Each step was wide, toes spread deep in the sand but no body attached to them, not a soul was there but me. I had staked out the spot for hours, watching from a near by ridge, from which I still stood now, and not a soul was there but me.

Regardless, the steps continued, Left. Right. Left. Right. Like a soldiers march, on time and in step.

The water licked at the nearest prints then arced around what was not there. I saw the water part around legs that were not there and then a splash and what _still_ was not there disappeared.

I can’t attest that it was out of the realm of possibility as it obviously was not, I simply failed to think of it.

As I stood still watching, camera lying dumbly at my side, the prints vanished foot by foot as if they were small mistakes on an artists’ canvas, sketches meant to be erased and painted over.

Regrettably, valuable seconds passed before I caught my breath and started rolling.

I blame myself for the oversight.