May 17: Beachwalk

Isn't it something, though? A morning walk on the beach. As I begin this blog, my flip-flops are still wet after my trip to the Dania Beach shorefront, perhaps the most undeveloped stretch of beach in Greater Fort Lauderdale. I just finished wiping the last grains of sand off my feet - at least I think I got them all now. And I cleaned the salt spray from my glasses too. It was a windy morning but lovely, another delightful opportunity to spend some time on our coastline. A bit earlier, I had hopped in my Mini Cooper, opened the sunroof and scooted a mile or so from my condo to the Atlantic Ocean. The sunshine was hazy at the time, softened by banks of clouds that shifted over the sea. The rays that reflected off the water also shifted, swatches of brilliant light that shone and faded in some great pattern.

The ocean itself was an almost surreal pale green, like some fluorescent pastel you'd be more likely to find coloring a living room wall than painted on the surface of the sea. Beautiful. I wandered on to the clean tan sand in my flip-flops without intending to wade into the surf. But I reached down to the water with my hand to feel the temperature. Very pleasant, warm but still refreshing.

Then I spotted an ivory white seashell and leaned down again to pick it up. It was small and appeared somehow delicate, with a deep impression of some tentacled form of sea life embedded in its shape. I washed the sand off the shell, then tossed it back on the beach for a surprised tourist to discover later in the day. A few people already were lounging in beach chairs or blankets, a few more were walking along the shore for their morning exercise. I was still dry at this point, just staring out at the pelicans that bobbed on the winds and on the waves. But I wasn't dry for long. I stepped into the ocean in my flip-flops for some odd reason, then took them off and strolled barefoot a ways through the clear saltwater. My heels were tickled by small pieces of kelp that surged in and out on the powerful surf. With all the wind, this was a much better day for walking and sunning and wading than for swimming. And so I walked and sunned and waded until I was ready to leave. A family of four was arriving as I got into my car to go home, unloading their beach chairs and beach toys. It was another normal day along the South Florida coast, though it was special to me of course. For a little while, I had been part of it.