You return early next morning, and there is the grass ring that you left behind, now bleached white by the heat of yesterday. It is glistening in the morning sunshine, dew from the sea mist sparkling like little chips of aquamarine.
You take it home this time.
A summer's day lazing in the sand dunes. The breeze is brushing the grasses gently and you lay there, looking out to sea.
Idly, you take some of the grass and twist it round and round, wrapping it into a simple ring, the stems and leaves intertwined.
The day ends.
But the summer is endless.