Walk on the Beach

Against the bluest sky I shield my eyes from the sun to see the gulls drop oysters from above, letting gravity do the work of cracking them open on the rocks below.

Todd’s Point is at the end of a narrow rock-walled road where the driver of the oncoming car shakes their head as we carefully pass them without incident and see the surprise of the next driver as it enters the tight passage. Then the road opens up closer to the beach. We find a space in the parking lot and add an extra layer before walking across the road to the Sound.

Although Dog Days typically describe the August heat, the term comes to mind this March day because each couple or single human on the beach, those with children in tow and those without, has a leash or treats or both. Some have a long plastic gadget with a cup on the end that lets them throw the ball they hope their canine will fetch longer than they could pitch it otherwise. There are dogs chasing dogs, dogs chasing balls across the sand or into the waves to retrieve them before they are lost to the sea. One doomed to failure crosses an open stretch of water to a sandbar as the gull he was hoping to catch takes flight. Without stopping, he circles back to the shore looking for his next object of attack.

The children dodge the beasts in motion and some raise their arms to be lifted into the safety of their parents’ embrace. One with rain boots up to his knees runs after the dog chasing after the dog until he falls face down into the damp sand. The sharp blare of his cry sets his parents in motion.

Far from silent, the sounds of gulls, barking dogs, and snippets of conversation abound as we determine where we will cross the ribbons of water making their way through the beach from the dunes to the lapping of the waves.

I stop and think that I never would have known about this little strip of paradise except for Hope, who I first met in a circle of folks gathered to share comfort and tissues as they spoke about the lopsided, off-centered world they had fallen into, the nightmare of slipping and sliding from son or daughter, from husband or wife, or just a dear, dear friend, to the world of caregiving. Hope lived a few miles from Todd’s Point and would walk along the beach, first with her ailing daughter and then alone in mourning. She shared the healing properties of the wind, the sand, and the sea. It is not the spray of the sea that wets my cheek. I bend to pet a doodle of some sort who has chosen to take a moment to be cherished. Grateful for this moment in time and the good fortune to have found ourselves at the surfs edge in the warmth of the sun under the bluest of skies.