by Lois Wolleman-Gasquez
Walking on the beach early in the morning, with my husband, how does it make me feel? I feel that I have been invited to spend time with people who are familiar but do not know, not their names or anything about their lives except for a remark overheard in passing or perhaps what a gesture may imply. What we share together in this moment on the beach is not who we are individually but the familiarity in the day’s activities.
Nothing really changes on the beach from day to day, but is instead rearranged and I like that. There is the parade of people who walk the beach—some stroll along, others walk solid with strong intention, older couples often greet us with ‘Good Morning’ and walk pass leaving good feelings behind. Some walk at the water’s edge while others prefer deeper sand. Younger walkers wear headphones and walk or jog with their eyes straight ahead. Some want to be noticed, others not.
A mother applies sun protection to the backs and arms of her young children and afterwards joins in with their imaginary play while a father brings the older siblings into the water for a little fun or reassures by holding hands with his son or daughter.
There are those under umbrellas and those who are sun worshipers and those who look like they are going to camp here for the night.
All the while the waves jump and crescendo and make the long stroll up the sand to tease sandpipers, that scurry like wind-up toys to avoid getting their feet wet, the same as yesterday but rearranged for today.
The book readers and those who plan ahead and bring crunchy salty snacks and drinks, children who dig tunnels to mysterious places or ditches they climb into and wait to be found or for the water to fill, they are here also.
All this and more, a fisherman waiting, sitting close to his bucket filled with water ready to drop in a fish if he catches one, those who toss a ball about, a young woman barefoot, wearing a white summer dress and floppy hat looking like she stepped out of a 19th Century painting, she’s here also.
Some days the beach is strewn with seashells and on other days you can only find only a few. Today, instead of bringing home sandy seashells in my pocket, I will bring home the memories of giggly three and four year old children who delight in chasing pigeons while waving their arms about, and happy silly dogs who delight in running in and out of the water for no reason at all, except to be silly happy dogs.
Lois Wolleman-Gasquez loves putting words together, is a photographer and plays around with Intuitive Design. She has written personal interest stories for publication and is currently working with her husband, author Carlos Gasquez, on the completion of his new book Death of a Priest.