Here’s the beach at sunset. It deserves equal time. The gulls are flying north. One of these days I’m going to discover where they spend the night. It must be some exclusive seagull resort.
All the life forms are feverishly active, as if that would make the day live longer, especially after the red sun sinks into the sea. After that, darkness closes in on fast-forward. That’s just the opposite of the dawn, which breaks in slow motion.
The surfers hope for one last wave to ride them home to the beach, but the sea is calm, as the surf laps gently all the way up to the semi-soft sand to give the happy little clams their dinner and rock them to sleep.
The sand is still warm underfoot from the day’s blazing sun. The water is cold in contrast.
The last surfer heads inland, carrying his faithful board. The volleyball players, picnicking families, skaters, and cyclers disappear into the dusk. The street lights come on, lighting the way for the walkers, walking by the pretty little houses lined up along the strand.
Ten walkers walking, nine skaters skating, eight cyclers cycling, seven volleyball players playing, six surfers surfing, five couples c… — uh, never mind.
One by one, the cars pull out of the parking lot. The parking lot closes soon, and we don’t want to get locked in down here. As much as we hate to leave, it’s time to go. But tomorrow is another day.
Good night, happy little clams.
“Zzzzz….” comes the reply.
Lynn Fountain Campbell