This Beach

         It wasn’t my ocean!  The air wasn’t permeated with salt.  The sound was muted though relentless.  The sun rose over a long row of houses that fronted the beach.  The beach was littered with shells foreign to my friend’s vision and my morning vigils to watch the light appear were held in solitude broken only by a quick salutation from a stranger who rose early to run or fish on the beach. 

            There I stood, waves lapping my toes and the hem of my dress like the second choice puppy from a humane shelter.  They cried out for attention, but my mind wanted a different beach.

            I would not wallow in self-pity.  I would accept my disappointment gracefully, claiming as much fun and inspiration as I could experience or fake.  There would be other vacations with the ocean at my feet, but not this year. 

            I looked for interesting shells to use in a water design I have planned.  I took lots of pictures to replace sharing my morning.  I watched the color develop in other parts of the sky and looked for its effect on the approaching waves.

           Accepting disappointment is not my long suite.             

            The third morning, not only did the clouds not afford a meteor count from the Perseids but there was no color to be experienced in the dawn.  I stood disappointed on the shore picking through the meager shell selection available at high tide, accepting the fact that we would leave in a few hours and this was my last walk on the beach this vacation. 

            My life is sometimes like a submarine functioning below the water’s surface.  I send a periscope into the atmosphere of reality, see a limited view of what’s out there, exuberantly surface under an ocean liner and ponder the problem of acceptance. 

            I’m not sure why I wasn’t paying attention that morning, but a tiny, muscled woman of Asian decent nearly knocked me down.  Her mind was on running.  We spoke quickly, somewhat embarrassed.

            As I looked up and away after her departure, I saw a dark line out on the ocean.  As I watched, it moved some and excited, I wondered if it could be a whale.  By the time I got my camera turned on and ready, it was gone.  I don’t know why it affected me that way, but suddenly, I realized that accepting disappointment was not my only option.  Accepting the joy was as much a choice.  I reflected on the fun and the comradery.  I had gathered many mementos and had a host of stories.  I had watched those I love romp and play and giggle.  I’d felt the ocean wind, powerful waves, and wet sandy hugs.  I had pictures of a rainbow cloud, a lighthouse, a dolphin, and a bird fight.

            The waves lapped my toes and my hem and I laughed.  I spent time trying to photograph the perfect wave.  The waves were truly beautiful that morning.  When the sunlight finally appeared, it scattered highlights on the water like jewels.  The storm from the night before had left odd bits and pieces behind.  I collected some with my camera and some with my hands.  It was truly a lovely beach, and a lovely time.  Now it is part of my past, and myself.  The memory is sweet.