Hello from Ocean Beach!
I keep finding myself here in the evenings, following the sunlight ahead of me until my toes are in the water, the waves lapping at my ankles. My original destination - the grocery store, the post office - ignored and forgotten, as I respond to the siren call of the water instead. There’s a perpetual smattering of sand on my floor, no matter how many times I sweep, because I inevitably carry more home in the rolled up hems of my jeans or the space between my toes.
Just yesterday, I stepped outside after work to grab my mail, but then got on my bike and peddled out to the shore without a second thought, as if pulled in by the tide. And I was greeted by the most beautiful sky I’ve seen in days: a clear bright sunset after a week of dense fog. I was not alone in reveling it in: the beach was spotted with people, alone or in groups, marveling at the sky. We’ve all learned to savor and cherish the clear and clean air, it seems. After the days and weeks of smoke, after the day the sun did not rise, the ocean breeze and its fresh air was, and continues to be, such a respite. A week or two ago, shortly after the worst of the smoke, I sat in the dunes and watched a sunset streak the sky with pink. I was moved, relieved even. It had been a long while since the color of the sky could be called beautiful.
So today, a list of the beautiful sight I’ve seen at Ocean Beach:
A crab in the waves, red and moving, who evaded me as I tried to dodge the waves to take its picture.
A flock of plovers that, from far away, looked like puffs of cotton sticking up out of the sand.
Countless surfers in the waves, bobbing up and down on their boards, appearing to walk on water when catching a wave.
Three seagull carcasses, on three consecutive days, each in a different state of decomposition.
A pug named Kingsley, who sidled right up to me on his walk as I was reading, and then climbed into my lap and proceeded to make himself comfortable there, as if we were old friends.
At 6 p.m. on a weekday, a woman running into the waves for a swim. She was wearing her undergarments. I was wearing a turtleneck and coat.
A man digging in the wet sand to collect worms.
A man playing a portable blue metal xylophone.
A group of kids building a protective sand barrier around an injured bird. “We called animal services an hour ago,” they told me, “but they’re still not here”, their disappointment and frustration palpable.
A hawk hovering in the wind stream, not moving. Do they like that, staying afloat without flapping their wings? Is it restful, after constant motion, to find yourself stuck in place, supported by the wind?
The sky turn from golden hour glow to silvery sunset shine.
What I want to learn next:
How to surf! If you have any pointers for a beginner, please send them my way.