The crisp golden sand cools my feet as I walk along the beach. The water is gushing gently under my feet, sparkling in the sun’s golden light. It’s a little after 6pm; I stand there, the wind blowing through my hair, thinking about what article I should write for the newspaper next week.I have a little column that I write every Sunday. I don’t write about the ordinary stuff. I don’t write about corruption or about fashion or food. I write on “the miracles of life.”
You see, according to me there are no coincidences, only miracles.