Homeward Bound

The beach is so quiet-only 10 or 12 folks in a three-mile stretch-walking, running, hunting for shells. A couple brave souls jump into the waves at sunrise washing away the dust from the night before. The silhouette of several darkens the water’s edge as they stand guard waiting for the sun to rise from a foreign shore. A tiny pop of glowing citrine on the horizon quickly widens to the keeper of life-our closet star. And the hope of a new day begins.

There are said to be shark teeth littering the beach but in all of my visits I’ve yet to find one-it doesn’t keep me from staring downward and forgetting about the sky at times. We remark about how each broken shell takes on a triangular shape – shark teeth imposters. But here those giants of the deep have left behind a collectible – a legacy- a part of them that will remain.

As I walk, I hold a worn shell -my fingers rubbing worries into its surface-a ‘gathering stone’ – a competent listener-a secret keeper. At the end of the walk, it is tossed into the sea along with all of those apprehensions. Footprints embed a lifetime of fleeting thoughts into the sand. Shorebirds wave dash - indifferent - but I give them a nod and feel as if we have come to know each other with each passing year.

A cuppa tea is the reward at the end of each beach walk and a plan to visit the pool and grab a chair in the preseason sun. There is a family pool some feet from the adult’s serenity pool. Cheers from vacationing winter-worn children are suddenly released into the air as they anxiously jump into heated outdoor pool water. “Marco Polo”- “Mom, look at this” ‘Watch me”.

Unbridled joy celebrating a fleeting reprieve from the northern chill.

At the adult pool there are Millennials and Gen Z’s lounging waist deep at the edge holding frozen drinks in plastic cups garnished with a variety of tropical fruit. But most of us, hiding whatever overindulgent pounds we’ve gathered over the years under our flora Moomoos, skin discolored by the extra layer of SPF 50, sit holding a half-baked novel and dreaming of home.

This one pool scape - holding every generation from garden-fresh to ripened and sun worn. And in that range, I can feel my newly acquired age through sunspots and freckles- wrinkles and rolls – the balance tipping toward eternity- trying to think of something I might leave behind.

As the vacation draws to a close, I know that someone else’s footprints will soon mark the shore, someone’s else’s beach towel will hang on my once coveted lounge chair and all will be erased and possibly forgotten. Shark teeth will remain in the surf and I will have left nothing behind but a cache of memories which I will carefully carry home.