The sun shines, the sun burns all day long on the beach, the sea is blue and white of foam are the waves. I sit on the beach as everyone does, I wear a large blue-white striped t-shirt, a blue skirt with indian patterns, my flip-flops are red. I wear big sunglasses as everyone does and am jealous of my sister’s fabulous straw-hat. She looks like the young Grace Kelly with this hat and I only sigh but do not try the hat, because every hat I wear makes me look like a very voluptuous spanish farmer’s wife, which is not exactly the impression I want to give. In front of us rages the sea and the wind blows through my hair. I sit with my legs crossed and as obviously the very last person on earth I read Christopher Clarks „Sleepwalkers“ but from time to time I close my eyes and snooze lazily in the sun. The children play with little shovels and my niece asks for ice-cream or Coke till she again runs along with other children but then out of the blue a large wave of sand lands on my feet. Uh, I think and finally get up again to see if a cavalcade of children demands with particular emphasis ice-cream but I can’t see any kids around my feet but while I am looking and I can assure you that these massive sunglasses are of big help when staring around, I see a man in his early thirties with a big yellow shovel. The man stands in the middle of an already deep hole. He does not look at right nor at left. He is a man who digs and digs all alone. Next to him, his son, who can’t be much older than four or five years digs too. His shovel is blue and nearly as big as the boy himself. He tries to catch up with his father but he can only fail. This man has a mission, I am not quite sure what he searches for: gold or the centre of the world or maybe something completely different but a mission he must have. And he spares no costs and no efforts. He grabs the shovel out of the hands of his son and digs now with both hands deep and deeper. The son looks stunned for a few moments but then he cries, cries for his shovel and his right to dig but this father and his mission won’t feel disturbed by such calamities as a crying, heart-broken soul, he digs on. His wife tries to convince him to hand the blue shovel back to the boy, but the man does not even look at her but he digs deeper. He is a man with mission, he does not know exhaustion or tiredness. He shows the world what energy means and if it will be gold or only muddy water he will find it sooner or later. But my niece and I we search for ice-cream in the meantime.