Last week, Race and I watched a tiny loggerhead hatchling make his way down the dunes, intent to get out to sea. It took him more than a few tries. He was tossed around, upside down, in and then back out onto the beach. He did finally ride the current out and swam like a champion to the smooth part of the water. Because they need to breath air, we were able to keep his small black head in our sights for quite a while. Until we couldn't anymore. I almost cried.
Yesterday I was all alone, except for a homeless man on the big rocks who just woke up and was preparing to fish. We said good morning. A flock of exactly 24 pelicans started following me along the coast. Or I was following them. We spent a good half hour together as they alternately dive bombed the surface and wobbled in the water like happy buoys. It was raining in slow motion. Giant birds.
Today was dog day. Three white labradors were body surfing and it wasn't the first time. A rogue black poodle with very long legs ran so far, so fast, in and out of the waves and around the bend. It may have been her first time. The owner looked like she had not been on a walk in a long while. Some unexpected exercise was needed. She walked behind me, probably reevaluating how much she really needed or wanted that poodle. Then I took mercy and sped up ahead to help. When the dog finally heard my voice and slopped herself over, she shook so hard, and was so damn happy, that I had to give her a big long lecture about what a trouble maker she was and head her back home.
When I'm done I always stand in the water and look out at the horizon for a bit. Then up the steps to the big smelly pavilion to shower off the sand. By that time, the picnic tables are full of these same local people praying out loud. And some other regulars, smoking cigarettes, listening to them talk about God. He's down there, I think, walking to the car.
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