Tuesday, June 12, 2018

Marks in the Sand

 ...the sun on the sculpted sand ...
I am so interested in the ocean cove by Rebecca’s home.

She says that since this is an island, the perimeter of it is circled by many such coves, more than a person could ever visit.

Since a fellow traveller along the beach told me that the water was at low-tide, I have been attentive to its level and how far I can walk around the cove.

Today my left foot got soaked for the first time.

Really wet.

Enough that I could feel the water soaking through my socks.

I didn’t know that sand could do that, sink into water beneath one”s weight.
... pink lines on the stone ...

 I was reminded of a movie from my childhood, probably in the 1940’s.

 One of the men in the movie was sucked right down in a pit of quick sand.

I can still see those frames rolling by, and the look of horror on the faces of those who couldn’t help.

... pooled water with algae ...
I spent many childhood sleepless nights worrying that somehow I would find myself on a desert and sink in the quick sand, my friends standing around me, too, unable to help me.

This may be making me extra attentive to the sand as I walk along.
... the trees are mirrored in the pool by the shoreline ...

I am often putting my camera down near the ground to capture images that surprise me.
A lovely pink shell was on the beach and I reached down to turn it over, thinking I could turn it over for a better camera moment.

It was broken on the other side and was more in the shape of a cup or a dish now. It was filled with hundreds of little flies and bugs.

I think my recoil was more from shock than horror since rotting compost holds no fear for me.

In retrospect, it was a beautiful tiny dish of food for the ducklings that follow their parents out into the water for a swim when I get too close to them.

... an artist's heels dug into the sand ...
Or maybe whatever was in it is eaten by the small fish which must be everywhere in the water, if I can judge by how often the heron ducks its head under water and comes up with a fish.
... rocks and sand ...

So now I am trying to figure out what the sand looks like when it is dry, and when it is good for building sand castles, and when it is just the landscape filled with water.

One morning as I was walking down the long flights of stairs to the cove, a man passed me coming up.

He had a sketching pad in his hand and some of the inter-locking foams clutched to his person. I just thought to myself, he must have been trying to draw and catch the early morning light.

I was the second person on the beach that morning since I knew he was first.

I can how many people have walked along the beach before me, for now I look for footprints.

Nothing was there so he must have been walking on the fine rocks.. Then I saw two strange deep indents in the sand and laughed. He probably sat right at that spot and then dug his heels in at that point.

I have been typing up some transcripts of the Gitxaala people, as a gift to Rebecca.

The Gitxaala were the First Peoples of the Coast.

As I walk along, I wonder if much has changed from the time that they were first known to inhabit the coast until now.

This must be where they watched for the canoes of traders or hid when enemies paddled up and down these shores.

... tidal waters yet to return to the ocean ...
I like thinking about that and hearing their words on the tape again in my mind.

I also enjoy feeling the humidity around me and smelling the salt from the ocean hat hangs in the air.

A privilege for me to walk along the beach each morning.



  1. you make me want to walk down to the beach with you!

  2. Yesterday it was raining -- not really heavy rain, but spitting enough that I knew I would come home soaking wet if I ventured out to walk in the cove.

    Today I had time constraints, so I only walked down to the cove parking lot and didn't descend to the beach. I am leaving in 13 days. I wonder how many more times I will get to the beach.

    I am getting to know its regulars in the morning -- a man is walking a dog, he defers to me on the sidewalk going all the way out to the grass, bows his head and always says hello mam, as though we are in a master servant relationship. That hurts.