Wednesday, July 08, 2015

The Edge Of The World



The Edge Of The World

There's something about the beach early in the morning. I love the debris that washes up along the shore overnight. I love the smell of something pungent in the air, the scudded tangles of seaweed, the bloated outline of a dead fish that I can't quite bear to look at, the rotting pieces of driftwood that create shiny sculptures in my mind, the pieces of plastic bags or small bobbing toys left behind by yesterday's sunbathers. It's a world of death and decay giving way to the glow of the reassuring sun promising another day of vibrant life.

There's something about the beach early in the morning. I love the way the water breaks in circles around my feet. I love the itch of the sand that curls around my toes and then drops away with every new step. I love to look back and test that old adage about footprints in the sand, and sure enough, those footprints disappear, if not all at once, then soon enough. I love the feel of the air, wet somehow on my face and bristling through my hair. I love the way the gulls swirl through the air, a ballet of black and white birds against a panorama of blue hues as they soar and crash into the sea and squawk with delight above undisturbed schools of small fish in the shallows.

There's something about the beach early in the morning. I love watching the line that divides the sandy beach from the water. It's a shifting boundary, a battle for ground where tiny shells bob and dance in the fray. I love the silent reflection of sky in water that sparkles, from time to time, in diamond shaped refractions that create tiny rainbows at the corners of my eyes. I love the brightly coloured rocks that glisten just under the surface of water and the paler, dry stones that have already been cast too far ashore and have dulled in the thirsty morning air.

There's something about the beach early in the morning. It's like walking along the edge of the world somehow. It is a time that makes me feel large and small in the same moment, a time to feel a singular, peaceful solitude even as it reminds me of the shifting uncertainty of life. The joy of the moment has a transient permanence to it. There and then not there, but always there.

I know, it barely makes sense.
 






 








 
 


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