Wednesday, January 03, 2007

THE OCEAN CALLS



"Shore can be parsed into the subsets of beach and coast. One could say that shore is the more formal-sounding and "elegant" of the three—as evidenced by real estate developers and bad poets."
—Luis Alberto Urrea in the entry "Shore" from Home Ground: Language for an American Landscape, edited by Barry Lopez and Debra Gwartney, page 326

One week ago today, I am walking the beach at Ocean Shores, being assailed by very strong winds and even stronger gusts that threaten to knock me over. I am alone, except for the occasional sea gull or group of plovers. I am wearing my father-in-law's spare coat because I forgot mine in the final chaotic moment of packing up and departing. The neck of the coat is drawn up over my mouth and nose. My fleece cap is pulled down to my brow. I am shielding the half-inch of space between with both gloved hands, walking into the wind. Even so, my eyelids are "flapping." Mist spatters the small amount of my facial skin that is exposed.

I am taking photographs of the few items that are actually on the beach and not being moved about by the wind or scoured by the waves: a bird braving the elements, a stranded jelly fish adorned with a thick stalk of sea grass, a water-logged feather, half of a sand dollar, driftwood. Every so often, a sports-utility vehicle passes. Otherwise, it is me and my camera being battered about by a minor storm.

It is cold. It is wet. I turn to walk with the wind rather than against it. I walk back toward the direction of Clam Castle, the rental house that is home for the week. I shove my hands deep into the pockets of my borrowed coat and walk and think and pray and wallow in being alive and aware of how small I am. I walk into the dunes of sand and grass. I try to get away from the line-of-sight of anyone who might be on the beach. I urinate and the wind carries the stream farther than I imagine it would. I finish and walk back toward the road and then "home." I need to be back before the wife and the child wake from their afternoon naps. Life is good today.

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