|Artist rendering: POP entrance|
In fact, I was not a beach bunny. I got bored lying on a towel soaking up the rays—and reading while lying down was not comfortable. (We didn't seem to have folding chairs in those days!) And I didn't really like swimming in saltwater or body surfing.
My favorite time to go to the beach was on foggy winter days; my favorite activity: to walk along the shore in all its misty moodiness. Maybe not as a child, but certainly as a (moody) teenager.
For the past twenty-five years, we've lived a mile from the shore of Monterey Bay. Despite its proximity, I don't go to the shore very often. Whenever I do go, I wonder why I don't go more. I love the water, the waves, the shorebirds, the fresh air, the gliding pelicans and bobbing sea otters, the occasional whale spout.
Maybe it's because if I'm going to get out for a good walk, I want to climb a few hills. And of course, the beach is pretty flat.
This morning some good friends were visiting from Cape Cod, and they wanted to get another dose of the Pacific. So in between rain squalls, we took a drive down to the local beach and walked a short ways. It was windy. The surf was up. Hundreds of sea gulls stood facing into the breeze, hunkered down for warmth. Another shower was barreling toward us over the water. It was a perfect moment. Here's a photo I snapped: