Morning at the Beach

My bench faces west across the beach and lake. The sun has only been up a couple of hours but already the little village is starting to stir. The “regulars” at the coffeehouse call to each other.
“Hey Joe!! ‘bout time you rolled out!”
Strewn over the parking lot are the remnants of yesterday’s Triathlon, a racer tag here, an abandoned swim cap there.
As I glance across the street I can see a parade of day campers marching single file.They each carry a fishing pole, taller than themselves. The poles are hoisted over their shoulders and bait buckets bang against their knees.
As this gaggle passes, the morning slips back into its hushed beauty. Several yards out on the lake a set of paddleboarders glide gracefully across the vista.
A buick pulls into a parking spot and 3 toddlers haul Grandma and a wagon of sand toys over the dune to their favorite beach spot.
As a colorful cycling team zips by pedaling in unison, a waft of frying tortillas drifts over from the food truck. The “regulars”, the beachgoers and the fisherman all pause to gawk at the woman lugging her kayak across the parking lot, down the beach and into the water.
Slowly the beach is waking up and seizing the day.