The Beach
July 8, 2009 - 8:30am @ Seaside, OR
I'm out at the beach now. It rained last night, so the top crust of sand is wet but underneath it's still dry. A seagull screeches next to me as it pecks at, then picks up and flies off with what looks to be a small squarish lump of white driftwood - but which in reality could be anything. I'm sitting on a swing set planted directly into the sand. The wind blows across my body, hitting my left side as it passes. It's a curious feeling to be both warm and cold at the same time. Inside my down jacket I'm warm and toasty - maybe even hot with a hint of sweat along my ribs and under my arms. My hands and face are perfectly normal even without gloves 'cause they're sheltered by my leg and this journal, and my face is tucked away from the wind by a scarf.
The cold air makes my nose run. My left ear aches slightly from the wind pressure, in spite of the two layers of scarf as well as my hat. My stomach slowly rolls and growls, reminding me that I should have grabbed a granola bar or fruit leather on my way out. It's just 8:30 am. My toes are cold - that numb pain you get is twinging in my toes and the soles of my feet. But I don't mind. In fact, I almost like the feeling - it's been so long since I've been here to feel it. I can bury my toes in the sand to shelter and warm them a bit.
The air is fresh this morning - you can't smell any rotting or salty smells that you would in the hot midday sun. It's heavy with moisture. Even though it's not raining or even sprinkling, it is still moist enough to soften the paper slightly. Gray fog hangs over the ocean and envelops the top of the cliff at the south end of the beach. The steady roar of the waves is the most constant sound. An occasional gull cries. Only a handful of people are out - if you didn't look up to see them you could be completely alone.
The wind blows harder, carrying salt water spray along with it and making the empty swings sway from side to side. Even with the fog, it is still bright with diffuse light inside this dome of clouds. You could almost believe that only the small circle of visible land existed. Outside the fog - nothing. Clam diggers with their cylinder shaped digging tools walk by reminding me that there really is a world out there even though hidden.
The view is monochrome - soft gray sky blending at the horizon into darker steely gray ocean broken at the shoreline by white breakers, made a creamy pearl color by the churned up sand. The breaking waves smooth out a wide swath of sand that shimmers and reflects the sky like a mirror. Farther up the beach the sand becomes rough again - free from the influence of the water, but still shaped by the feet of people, birds and crabs. The beach is clean up to there, but now here and there white driftwood logs break up the brown sea of sand. Even farther up the monochrome is broken by brightly colored pieces of litter. A pepsi can crushed in the center, a green granola bar wrapper - nature valley brand, oats and honey flavor - one of my personal favorites. Other unidentifiable bits of material litter the sand. What was probably a straw and a bit of paper, all mix in with the broken shells and washed up seaweed, to make a continuous blanket of garbage littering the beach. Yet from a distance not even noticable or distinguishable from the sand.
Most of the gulls look scruffy - feathers sticking out at odd angles from their necks, back and breasts. With molted blotchy brown and gray markings marring the perfect white of their heads and bodies. But occasionally you might see and unusual bird whose feathers are nicely groomed with pure unbroken white from head to stomach with shiny gray wings all aligned. That is the one time seagulls are even remotely beautiful. Most of the time they look like homeless vagabonds. When not scrounging for bits of food, they face the wind and hunker down on the sand to keep warm. They gather in small groups - always keeping a careful distance from each other as well as any people.
The ocean has always been my friend. I especially love the ocean in a storm. I feel understood. Loved. Wanted. Now that I'm older I recognize God. He met me here.






