Beach walking is special. No matter the season or weather, walking on damp sand nearest the curl of waves spells magic. Come to it in early summer and see the sea turtle nests numbered and marked. Arrive in August and watch the children cavort like fish in the surf. Marvel as the moon swinging low over an October horizon or trudge against a brisk winter wind, alone except for sea-birds that skim an icy sea.
I’ve tried so many times to capture the many moods of the ocean. Mumbling haiku, I’ve stopped to watch the dolphins leap, or snapped photographs or attempted water colors… not with much success, mind you, for the ocean has many moods. Kind and playful one moment, it can morph into a ferocious force that topples buildings and devours lives and dreams.
For me beaches are most wonderful when I can shuck the sneakers and socks and go wading. I’ve done this even in February when the water stings and numb, but I much prefer April, when wading is pure heaven. This morning I stood shin-deep in water and felt a thousand tiny coquinas, all intent on riding the waves, flow between my toes.
ride even the highest wave…
I felt for those coquinas. I mean, there they were, digging themselves furiously into the sand, all business as usual, while a few feet away sandpipers were waiting to use their long, sharp beaks to get breakfast. At the beach, the circle of life often rests on the timing of a wave!
Have you listened to waves? I have, and it seems as if each one has a different story or a song to sing that is as old as time itself. Doubtless this is magic, for that magic draws me back, time and again, to walk along the beach.
Afternoon’s high tide
Fans waves across still-cool sands…