August 13, 2008
Saturday morning, while staying with Red-haired Sister's family in Small Town Near the Ocean, I woke early, while the kids and dogs were still sleeping, and walked down to the little local beach. Boats splattered with dew crowded along the docks of the marina, bumping against the piers when waves came through. Something in the rigging made a chiming noise. The beach itself was empty, except for a cop parked near the entrance and a woman doing tai chi forms under a tree.
I swam at this same beach as a child, more than forty years ago, during our August vacations to the shore to visit my mother's family. I can remember pretending to swim by pushing my body along with my hands on the sandy bottom, trying to fool my grandmother and Aunt Seashell. Older braver kids would jump off the wooden dock, but I always stayed close to shore. There's a new pier now, and a curving boardwalk the runs from the marina to beach, but the sand is still the same, brown with little pebbles, and the water is still the color of pine needles. The air still smells like salt.
Posted by jo(e)