My first morning at the beach, I'm eager to go for a
walk. The sun has already crested the horizon, but I see it's only 59 degrees out on our balcony.
The beach is empty except for a boy racing
by. Where’s he going? To the pier? Or home to escape the cold wind? Although I
long to get out and walk along the sand, I decide to wait a while.
An hour later, the needle hasn’t budged, but a stalwart family of five has set up their chairs near the surf. Not too cold for them. I’ll bundle up.
Terry grins as I put on a flimsy hoodie.
Undeterred, I head out the door, but I
don’t make it four steps before I retreat back inside and trade it for a my thickest cardigan.
My body acclimates
somewhat on the trip down the boardwalk. It’s not too bad. Once down the
stairs, the question arises: flip-flops or bare feet? I step out of my sandals
and wiggle my toes in the sand—just a tad chilly.
Even though I know I’ll pay for it later
with chaffed feet, I strike out. The closer I get to the water, the colder the
sand. I settle for a path between the wet, packed shore and the deeper sand. As
I slog west, the wind’s at my back and my sweater’s warm.
the tideline, I look for that elusive sand dollar or a tiny starfish, but all
that catches my eye is an Imperial Venus about the size of a quarter. I pick it
A little farther down the way, a man sits with a book. He’s all bundled up against the wind except for his tanned hands and feet. We exchange “Good Mornings,” and I move on, wondering if the soles of his feet will burn later, too.
feed the gulls from the end of their boardwalk. Half the noisy birds hover near
them while others congregate on the sand below. Waiting their turn? I doubt it.
More likely waiting for whatever falls on the sand. Gulls have notoriously bad
I pick up a
abandoned sand shovel and turn back. The wind on my face is not so bad. I’ve warmed
up considerably, and my feet aren’t too cold.
I stop and ask a young couple gathering
shells if they are looking for anything in particular.
“Just picking up
shells,” she says.
like this one,” I ask, handing her my shell. She and her companion break into smiles.
Next, I pick up a little piece of rosy barnacle
and angle toward a boy of about ten dipping a net into the surf. I ask, “Would you like this?”
Grinning broadly, he says, “Thank
you,” and shows it to an older woman (perhaps his grandmother). She rewards me
with a nice smile, too.
As I near our building, I see that the
little family is still out, so I offer the smallest boy the shovel.
Eight Smiles Today.
My feet are already tingling as I head
inside to slather lotion on them. But what's a little discomfort when those warm smiles will be
with me the rest of the day.
Copyright © Reflections from Dorothy's Ridge 2015. All rights reserved
One gives freely, yet grows all the richer…
Labels: Beaches, Devotionals, Sea Shells