Wheeling Gull Isle we act in ways that damage ourselves

There was an undeniable ache in his bones as he made his way to the island, a subtle limp to his step along the sandy shores. Age would be the culprit to his condition. Nothing he hadn't dealt with before though. His seventh summer was here and soon his seventh winter would be here. Perhaps his final. Why dwell on such dreaded things? The sun was high in the sky without a cloud to be spotted. A perfect sunbathing day. He began his trip along the edge of the island to find something better than just sand to lounge upon.