Beach

Next to last day of my vacation and I’m still less than relaxed. There is a stupid tune playing as background of my thoughts and, no, I do not know the words, and all I can think about is that the guy on the sand to my right has muttonchops. Muttonchops! He looks like a victorian military man just returning from a stint in India. I haven’t met a beard I could relate to since the 70’s but why is this one so annoying to me?

I took myself for a very long walk on the ebb tide beach. I hoped to walk off the chatter and judgment in my brain. I padded through beery foam, cross-scored sand and clean sparkle. My feet pressed evidence of the moment in the sand. I followed an intermittent, crinkling sand-sun and on and on I talked in my head above the incessant tune.

A gull pirated some bait in a Ziploc. He looked determined to swallow it whole. I tried to make him drop it, but failed. Later a large Black Backed Gull made off with a guy’s cell phone in a Ziploc and many people converged to make him drop it.

I walked for two and a half miles before I turned into the steps of my shadow and started back. The darker, undulating me moved like a very relaxed woman. I knew better. I could have screamed in frustration at not being able to quiet myself amid so much magic. I remember being a young girl at the beach, awake and mellow and blissfully empty inside after a beach day. That’s what I was looking for on this vacation. Emotional agendas always fail but I can’t seem to remember that. My youthful self clearly had fewer goals for the beach. I'd have been better off if I'd had none.

I saw something wonderful last Saturday. All along the beach and out to sea I could discern flecks of bright yellow. Butterflies, it seemed, all fluttering north along the coast. They winked between the bathers and further out to sea. No one appeared to notice them. They were loosely aligned, not in any way close to each other, but always, all day, I could see a dozen or so delicately working their way north. Eventually one of our party found a knowledgeable park ranger who told us they were Cloud and Cloudless Sulphurs migrating to Argentina. Apparently they preferred an eccentric route, north by northwest and into the wind. I get it.

Later, my umbrella blew completely inside out and Mr. Muttonchops, whose name I will never know, was the only one to come immediately and help me get it down. I am so sick of myself.

Though I didn’t get any photos from my beach walk, and though I felt I was ranting and humming the whole time, a part of me must have been present because my mental images of that day are clearer than my photographs.

Regarding the lost money and the good will I hope is following in its wake, (see prior post 'Supply') I was notified this week that my proposal for a large job has been accepted and I have an inquiry for another one of some substance. So money goes, money comes, Money will surely go and come again. My faith and my capacity to rest, like the Sulphur Moths, flicker in heavy wind and often seem to be going in the wrong direction.

beardcriticandbutterflyobserver@chincoteague