A writer sits on a cliff overlooking the ocean on a
mid-morning, some June Saturday. A
frenzied writer found a blank notebook page but could not find a pen.
The beach, the waves, the people, the drone, all starting the
day enjoying the beauty of nature. Cumulus
clouds in the distance off the coast, the white –topped cotton balls, the grey
rain clouds below stand against a deep blue sky.
The birds in the coastal bushes, the seagulls, all making
music interrupted on occasion by the annoying crows cawing over some road kill
back on the road.
The beach is full of walkers this morning. This cool, crisp, rainless morning. Walkers, all on two feet. No dogs today, although I have seen two cats
back by the road. Looking for birds, maybe?
The sound of the waves ever present, like the soundtrack of
the beach, a never-ending, relentless symphony.
Mother Nature’s way of telling us that land is temporary in her great
lifespan. If she loses some, she’ll make
more. She is creative like that.
A group of seagulls are waiting on the beach. Standing there on their two feet in a group. Planning session on how to deal with
tourists? The group parts down the
middle, the topic of discussion put on hold as they move to let the tourists
pass. It is a long, wide beach, the
tourists could easily have walked around but humans like straight lines and can’t
be bothered to change our course.
