I like to walk down the beach and pick up shells. I do. But I’m also completely content to stay with our stuff.
When we get here, we put up the chairs and then hop in the water. We’ve been in the Gulf – I mean in – every month over this past year. Granted, it took a little longer for me to get wet in the beginning of February than it did today, but I’ve jumped in the water every month.
Anyway, once we’re wet, I head back up to the chairs and stuff (wallet, keys, phones, towels, snacks) and my hubby walks down the beach looking for shells. We don’t need any more – we have a large glass vase and a small glass bowl overflowing with our beach treasure. But I think it’s impossible to walk down the beach and not pick up shells!
So he walks and I sit. We bought beach chairs as our Christmas present this year, and they are very comfortable. I like the fact that they are low, so my feet stretch out before me and I dig them into the sand. I lay my head back on the top of the chair and close my eyes. And listen.
I focus on the sound of the waves, and the voices of families around me fade. I concentrate on the water music, and begin to hear the melodies. The wave hits the beach first on my left, a bass clef sound, then the sound rolls toward me, in front of me, and past me down the shore, as if moving up the scale. Just when I can no longer hear it on the right – pianissimo – the crash comes from the left and the music begins again.
I wiggle down into my chair just a bit more, dig my feet a little deeper in the sand, and am lulled to relaxation by the music.
When my husband comes back with his treasure, we might get wet again. And I might join him for a walk in the other direction. But in the meantime, I am content right here with my beach music.