B is for Beaches

My favorite spot has to have a room with a view.  Not just any view, but specifically a view of the ocean.  My beach front property would not be the warm sandy beach of some island resort.  I’ve been to Fiji and  vacationed in Hawaii (how much better could you get than that, you may ask).  Been to the rocky cliffs on the coast of Scotland…windswept and beautiful, but a little too cold and rugged.  (Think Rosamond Pilcher).  My special place has no beach umbrellas here, no surf calling the sports enthusiast, and no bikini clad bodies.

No, mine would be a beach on the northern coast of California or perhaps Oregon.  A spot where the trees almost reach the water’s edge, but leave a space for a morning walk along a pebble strewn beach; where the morning mist  lazily hovers, blocking the heat of the sun.  A mystical morning where the calls of seagulls meet the sounds of gentle waves hitting the beach.  There needs to be a fallen tree for a resting place.  It fell many years ago and is worn smooth by wind, sun and rain; and invites one to linger a while.  I take some dried bread crumbs from my bag and toss them out and immediately one brave bird dives down and grabs a piece signally his buddies to do likewise.  Their is a frantic display of beaks and flapping wings and in seconds it is all gone.  I wish I had more for the latecomers who walk around and peck dejectedly.

I resume my walk as the sun peeps from the mist causing the stones on my path to  show off their beauty like elegant gemstones in a museum.  Except these are for touching and I gather a few, amazed at their smoothness.  I dry them on the leg of my jeans and drop them into my pocket. Some pieces of driftwood go into my bag along with several interesting shells that are a reminder that perhaps a house is only a temporary thing and out of necessity we move on.  I try not to think to much of that.  Places can claim us just a little while; or maybe we claim them.  But this vacation spot is part of my imagination, so who is to keep me from staying here as long as I like?

What is calling me back are clothes to be washed, meals to be prepared, faces to be kissed.

The beach stretches onward and the morning passes so lazily, that I’m surprised when the sun has arced over the earth.  It is time to return to my home and the demands of the cat who rules my regular life.  She will get to play with the stones and bat them around before I place them alongside the shells and driftwood on my windowsill.

What is your favorite vacation spot? Would you claim it for your home if you could? or save it for a get-a-way.

3 thoughts on “B is for Beaches

  1. Pingback: B is for Beaches

  2. Good stuff. Been to Oregon coast, but my wife and I vacationed in Maine several times during the 90s. Nearly all my stories about the coast come from there. I have novel waiting to be finished that Rockland, Port Clyde Maine and Penobscot Bay serve as the location.

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