It’s October and I thought I was finished writing about the beach – at least until next summer. But then there we were. Saturday. A glorious day. One of those very rare Goldilocks Days (to borrow a description of a planet discovered last week – “Not too hot, not too cold.”)
And so I found myself along with my significant other pulling our car over to the side of the road, rolling up our jeans, taking our shoes off and sinking our bare feet into the velvety soft sand. Our ringside seat was a blanket I keep in my car for impromptu picnics, insufficient heaters, and as a protective barrier for traveling nursery plants.
In one visual sweep from our perch, I saw a dozen or so other smiling people, surfers, butterflies (tons of them), skimmers (very cool black and white birds), seagulls, and, as if I needed anything more, a school of dolphins.
I love the beach in the summer, but when it’s July and 90 degrees and I’m on vacation, it’s expected that we will slip on bathing suits, pack up some food and head to the beach. It takes something more to find yourself sitting on the sand, watching the ocean in Autumn. A detour, maybe. A stop-what-you’re-doing decision. A willingness to accept that these are the gifts we rarely get, but always cherish.
It rained all day Sunday at the shore. I thought about a friend who lives in LA and frequently complains to me about how the weather there is just so damn perfect. Once in a while, he says, it would be nice to have some gray. I think I get it. We need it all – sun, rain, heat, cold, wind, snow.
Experiencing it, makes us feel alive.
