I don't know why I like beaches, I just do. On a miserable day a man walked on a beach in Norway. He was old with a hunched back and an unsteady gait. He also seemed determined to do something. I watched him, curious and intrigued. He took a long-stemmed red rose from his long, dark tan coat and carefully placed it on the beach. He straightened slowly and looked out over the water, the weight of the world, maybe the universe on his shoulders. I heard him say, "Goodbye, my love, my Rose." And he walked away.