January 20: Beach

Thanks to the miracles of modern technology, I'm writing this on the beach--a white sand beach littered with shells and washed by a vigorous, turquoise-waved surf. Some guys were actually surfing earlier, and several are out here fishing. I've been reading a book in the sun while occasionally lifting the binoculars to check out a passing bird. Paul tallied our 100th species this morning. Pelicans sail by, as do small flocks of royal terns. Ruddy turnstones pick along the water's edge, and sanderlings run before the foam. Ring-billed gulls wait near people eating, hoping for a handout. Earlier, a group of dolphins swam past, paralleling the shore. I get up now and then for periodic knee-deep forays into the surf to feel that tug of the water pulling the sand from beneath my feet and tumbling shells. I found a perfect moon snail shell. I can't remember such a peaceful day in many months. Meanwhile, we've learned of a big snowstorm back home.

Lullaby of surf,
sun, and seabirds. For now, mine,
though I'm made of snow.