This beach I once went to

This beach I once went to....

A tiny road extended till where it met the green body.
A tiny strip of sand stretched lengthwise to an extent unmeasurable. Far towards both sides of myself, I saw 50 metres of sand stretch to the horizon and disappear into the sky. 
Rainy stormy weather accompanied this vast, extraneous bay filled with great, green water of unknown depth. 
Green waves seemed to be producing prolonged beats of roars and crashes of the sea against the soft yet firm sand I had under my bare feet. The sand was cold and wet.
My own footsteps seemed like they were following me. Waves flowed from under my feet and left a tickly sensation every single time they met my weary, young feet. 
A smell of sea and fish filled the air around me and a soda can accompanied the illusiory fish in my mouth. 
Tiny creatures which I had not seen before vanished into the sand as I went close. They made me question my senses filled with solitary joy. Astonishing creatures were these crabs. The firm sand seemed to be like water to them. Everywhere they sunk themselves and left no hole to trace. 
Far away now were my parents and I did not really care.
Fog and mist became a hazy veil to this vast green face that went on and on. Behind me, somewhere a calm river flowed into this sea. The junction was far away, yet was something I was ready to go to. 
Every wave seemed to be novel and exciting in its own way. Every wave brought about in me a fear of a tsunami, and yet gave a comfort and a sense of security with its volatile yet calm state. 
Sandcastles were tiny things in this desolate place, something greater was what this place made me crave for. 
Watching the sea reply to questions I wrote on its shore was mesmerising. The sea had its way of telling me stories, some by planting a story in the wind which I breathed, some fixed in the sand I walked on, some hidden in the shells the sand preserved and many in the sounds its waves produced. Green colour seemed polychromatic with different colours though all green. 
A childish act of immitsting movies and lack of novelty filled the verbs which could be used to describe my actions. 
I certainly wish I could go back and write about it in greater detail. Storing such a place in pictures surely won't speak of its true beauty, for pictures are mere imitations and immitations, well, not always do they convey the message of the original