A day at the beach. For the record, I am not drawn to the beach for sun and surf. For me the beach is a kind of limbo space. Maybe it’s the sand, slowing my feet to a trudge. That white noise of waves and gulls, suspicious flotsam, everything awash in the ocean’s daily erasure.
A foggy morning in Santa Cruz, the beach is a mess of yesterday’s footprints. The boardwalk carnival rides are still. I’m thinking of all the dreams and joys and musings that spill out here and get washed out to sea.