A Day at the Beach

Sights, encounters, and reflections from a day at the beach:

Sights: I am a solitary figure among solitary figures. Many of the seabirds are loners at this time of year: a lone cormorant dips and dives not ten yards from shore; the occasional curlew is flockless; I walk around a single gull standing on one foot, in order to respect him, for this is his beach, not mine. Out on the water, a solitary surfer waits for one last wave as the darkening day joins the sky and the sea in gray. This is a good time to be alone on the beach, for I am not alone in being alone.

Encounters: Yesterday, a boy runs up behind me and yells, "DAD!" at the top of his lungs. He is shouting to his father, I'm sure, but I hear him as if I am he, when he startles me out of my reverie. Down the beach I meet "Flat Stanley," a doll sent by her great granddaughter to the great grandmother who is now photographing Flat Stanley's oceanside adventures for the great granddaughter to share with her class. Travel by proxy, like a garden gnome. Flat Stanley speaks to me: one of us is going places, he says. Two boys break away and run screaming at a group of seagulls minding their own business. A classic case of boy meets gull-- and as is usually true on such occasions, the gulls simply grumble and move along.

Reflections: I am wondering what our hearts are made of. I carved my name into her heart of stone, hoping to leave a lasting impression. But her heart turned out to be made of sand instead, and whatever impression I might have made was gone with the tide. Above the cliffs flies a POW/MIA flag. Some impressions are more permanent: in the battlefield of love, some of us are Missing in Action, others, Prisoners of War-- but lost forever to "take no prisoners" romance.