I promised myself I would be brave even though summer's sun is gone and the beach is no longer a warm and welcoming place to walk. Bundle up and walk anyway, I decided. Autumn had blown in on a nasty, wet and blustery wind but we've had hiatuses. Two nice days last weekend I did the whole walk on both sides of the spit called Long Beach. These wave marks were more pronounced that I saw over the summer. The winds and waves had crimped the sand like early permanent waves used to crimp flapper's hair styles. The tide was out, obviously, the sand was formally pleated. Yesterday, midday the sun came out it was warm and balmy, the air had the soft moistness that, in April, brings out the forsythia. It was very breezy but I thought that would be fine. So off I went to walk on the beach. I immediately found that it was more than breezy -- it was gale force windy. I actually could almost make no headway against the wind on the ocean side of the spit of land. All the sandy beach was smooth a a dance floor. The wind was a great broom that had swept the sand flat, burying shells and seaweed. None of those lovely crimps at all. The waves crashed furiously. After about 50 feet I walked up and over the lowish dunes to the inlet side which was somewhat protected. I walked about half the distance to the point where I had reached a wider marshy area beyond the part with scattered shrubs and low trees. The bezach had a personality that was new to me. I'm glad I went. Back home, a mile inland, once again the weather was lovely.
The mid-70s are a surprise! Part of me remains in the 50s -- age, I mean, not decade of 20th century. It's a joy ride, new experiences land in my lap and I've become a better quilter, poet, writer than I expected. It's a rich life for a person never rich financially. Hey, this is what the mid-70s are like!