Off the Cuff / My Other Journal

Life is a Beach, at least for a few hours...

If I am on the beach, the birds are flying up in the air just above me, and I look up to watch their underbellies, am I a peeping Tom? This worrisome notion comes to me when I look up at them, but I don't think the birds mind; although, they may feel uncomfortable with so much attention from me.

Yesterday, we went to the beach and watched the ocean and the swimmers. The weather was excellent. Not too hot as it is around here most of the time and not too cold, just 82 degrees. The ocean had a few waves with foam riding over them, but no Venus rose from those waves, maybe because the sun was fully out. Fancy skins abhor the sun.

The beach was a little crowded, which is okay by me, because I love to watch people just as much as I love to watch birds' underbellies.

Seagulls, I noticed, tuck their legs in perfectly. Their underbellies are soft white and perfectly streamlined, and they are not afraid of people at all. Flocks and flocks of them were frolicking among the sun worshippers and swimmers.

The pelicans look a bit clumsy; maybe because their shapes have more angles to them, but I admire the speed with which they suddenly dive into the water when they spot the fish. They are a bit cautious with people, but they are very well organized flyers. Their flocks keep their faultless formation, unlike the gulls that can fly sideways and straight up and down, but every which way they choose.

The hawks fly too high up to get a good view of them with the bare eye, but then, they have class. They open their wings wide to just glide in the air, and one can only witness their perfect silhouettes.

They say when there are so many birds around, the fish has to be plenty, which may also mean sharks are nearby. Luckily, there were no mishaps.

Afterwards we drove a few miles south to have lunch at the Dolphin Bar, one of my favorite feeding spots, part of which is built right on the water. We sat on the deck in open air. Despite being a Saturday and prime time for snowbirds (the people who live in Northern USA, not real birds), the place was not too crowded.

Think of me as the sand
hoisting the shells, pulling down feet
for a morsel of memory
too soggy to discard.

When the tide departs
it will leave salt wounds on my skin
until I shape-shift to a castle
for unfinished dreams.