The tide recedes, leaving a broad boulevard of beach behind. The rising sun brightens the heavy cloud cover. Cool, mellow breezes carry the welcome sound of waves as they break against the shore. The water flows gently a long way across the flat terrain. The foam is greenish-yellow today.
I ponder this as I start my trek towards the pier. It’s about five after six. The seagulls are just arriving, flying in from the north. Maybe they spent the night at the famous wetlands just north of here.
I look again at the greenish-yellow foam. Do I dare step in it? The birds don’t have a problem with it, so there’s a clue. I let the water wash gently over my bare ankles. Good. I’m still alive.
I’ve been away too long.
The vague little worries that have been weighing down my imagination start to thin out and float away. I’m at the beach again. Whimsy returns.
I see the large pieces of clam shell, their occupants long gone to that great chowder tureen in the sky. Half buried in the sand like that, they could be broken eggs from recently hatched dinosaurs, a la Jurassic Park.
Well, sure. If they can clone a sheep….
Yeah, but why is the sea foam greenish-white on some days and greenish-yellow on others. Must have something to do with the reproductive cycle of algae.
“Oh please!” say the algae. “Don’t analyze it to death. Just relax and enjoy it. This is the beach.”
Yes. Walking on towards the pier, I decide to take their advice.
Lynn Fountain Campbell