Silky sand slipping silently through my fingers.
Churning waves spraying a salty mist of seafoam.
Seabirds, clustered together in the warm sunlight, taking flight as one huge wave.
Children squealing with delight, racing away from the encroaching water.
Dogs straining at their collars, eager to greet each other, or a child, or a shell, or a piece of seaweed, or...
Seaweed stretched out like strange mythical beasts, marooned on the sands, waiting for the surf to carry them back to their watery lands.
Tiny trails in the sand - are they left by insects? snails? sand snakes? They mix with the tracks left by the sand pipers, a mapwork of their nighttime business.
Surfers of all sizes & shapes & ages, congregating on shore & in surf, learning the rhythm of the ocean waters.
The sun setting on the water - an unusual point of view for a New Englander! I've seen the sun rise from Cadilac Mt. in Acadia National Park, Maine, & now I've watched the sun set on the Pacific Ocean in California. I've flown across the Atlantic to London & the Pacific to Australia. I've seen the sun set from my own backyard, my grandparents' land & even from my apartment in NYC, & I saw it never set during a summer solstice in Alaska. It never gets old. It never becomes ordinary. It never stops leaving me breathless.
No comments:
Post a Comment