There is something romantic about the beach. Perhaps that is why sailors take to the ocean blue, couples walk down the sand barefoot leaving their prints to be washed away by the tide, and why we keep coming back to a place that remains consistent. Like rolling swells of water crashing against the beach. Sounds of water churning, splashing, and sea gulls calling.
“I love the scream of the ocean. It’s a scream of excitement.” Those were the words of a relative yesterday as we stood watching my children run from the unpredictable waves at the ocean shore line. My youngest, screamed the loudest, waiting as she pumped her little legs as fast as she could away from the spilling waters that rushed towards her feet. When it appeared the water had its peak, she’d chase away the retreating waters. Thus she did over and over again in spite of all efforts to move her closer.
Sometime later, I sat in the wet sand, building sand castles and watching foot prints get washed way. The more we spent time digging holes and moats the more the water would wash more sand up to erase our hard work, like a chalk board slate wiped clean.
It would appear the ocean has a relationship all of its own. One that consists of water colliding with sand and mingling for just a moment. Yet, the water always pulls away, leaving the sand wet and vulnerable.
Lucky for my oldest daughter, who scavenged the sands in search of treasure. Sea shells by the sea-shore.
Shell speckled sand and rushing waters licked the beach, never reaching to the same heights. No rhythm or reason behind each attempt to roll in and push forth.
There’s nothing like standing near the ocean and watching the swells of water rise and crash against the beach. Nor is there like the taste of salt water that will stick to your lips like a bad dream that haunts you. Not just a teaspoon of salt, but a tablespoon in every drop.
Sea gulls swoop and glide against the water with bellies skimming. Boggy boards and bikinis line up and down the horizon. A fog mist of ocean as far as the eye can see. Sand. Gritty, hot, white, wet, broken shells, and life guards perched on tall white towers.
Ahh, what a wonderful day to be at Seaside Heights in New Jersey.
Needless to say, there was no writing going on this day. However, there were many a memories in the making as we explored the boardwalk, ate giant pizzas, watched children’s faces as the waves splashed up their legs, and laughed at our own silliness. Especially, when a wave came up and caught me off guard. Talk about having your feet swept out from beneath you!
How romantic, right?
It depends if you’re a dolphin or tourist, of which, the tourist label would apply. But even as I write this, and all the umbrella’s have been taken down, the ocean waters remain. The sand lie in waiting. And, tomorrow the sun will again rise. In the darkness of night, the sounds of the wind sweeps across the waters, whispering. The sands shiver beneath the cold reaches of the tide.
Forever, shall the ocean lap against the sand, and the sand shall be swept away by the ocean. And somewhere there is a couple, or a family, walking along the seashore leaving their footprints to be washed away behind them.