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?