“Saddle up, Twitchy Baby. Let’s go for a drive.” My arms were full of warm towels from the dryer, my head full of mental furniture moving, busy work. I started to make a face at Buck, but then he dropped the other shoe. “Let’s take a picnic lunch over to the beach.” Oh, that man. He knows me so well.
The beach is where we first took long walks together, talking through our lives and our dreams and daring to conceive an entwined future more than 30 years ago.
I dropped the towels on the bed and was ready in a flash. We made sandwiches from tender leftover Chinese 5-Spice roast pork tenderloin and brought along a plastic zip bag of organic granola with dried cranberries and almonds.
Imprints of bare feet, jogging shoes, and big birds mingled with drying seaweed and pieces of large sand dollars. We saw a young mom and dad swinging their toddlers around in the pristine air. We heard their laughter, floating bells.
I had forgotten the power of water to soften, open and cleanse.
Walking on this nearly deserted beach, the tidal pull stimulated, clarified and calmed my noisy mind.
There is an attitude of acceptance at the beach, probably because each new tide washes in with the life that, even with shed feathers and drying jellyfish, organizes itself into a tableau that becomes an artful homily.
I am squinting into the bright sunlight. There’s a large bird feather stuck in the waistband of my jeans.
What will the next leg of our adventure be?
Bring it on!