I am not one to sit for hours in the hot sun on a crowded beach. I grew up in New Jersey and spent lots of time at the beach, but once childhood passed I’d be bored stiff whenever I joined my friends for a day of tanning (or burning, as fate and my fair skin dictated). I’ve lived in Florida for twenty-five years and I doubt I’ve been to the beach on a typical beach day ten times.
But invite me to the beach at night, or on a windy, overcast or cold day and I’m there in a heartbeat. I love it. I love the solitude, the roaring surf, the endless sky. I love how connected to the earth, and to G-d I feel. I love that it seems like I’m sharing a special secret with whomever I’m with, even if I’m alone.
Today was a perfect beach day, at least to me. I knew the weather would keep the crowds away. Son and I arrived and found a parking place easily. The sky was mostly overcast, and the winds were blowing pretty strongly. The surfers were in their glory, enjoying the windy day’s rougher seas.
Son and I walked, and played in the sand, and climbed on the rocks. We saw birds and jellyfish and lifeguards. We ate sand (three-year-olds like to throw it, don’t you know) and held hands and buried each other’s feet.
What could be more perfect that that?
Are You Going To Be This Way The Rest of The Time I Know You? 