"The beach is not a place to work: to read, to write or to think."
Anne Morrow Lindbergh
Gift From the Sea
Saturday saw us drive up island, to our home there, to take down a willow tree. The tree is beautiful, but too close to the house, and there is danger of the roots infiltrating the drainage system and causing troubles. So down it came.The yard looks starkly bare now.
Little Miss S is two months old tomorrow, and this was her first road trip. Her mother and I observed her father and grandfather work hard in the hot sun. Afterwards, we rewarded ourselves with a walk on my favourite beach.
Wide stretches of smooth sand alternate with barnacled rocky patches. The tide rushes in over sun-heated sand and we wade in the warm water. We're together, but each of us apart. The harmony of sea, sand and sun speaks to the individual. Cares fall distant as the white-fringed waves undulate along the shore.
Just an hour or so at the beach had all four of us (Little Miss S slept through it all) sighing with contentment as we got in the car to return home. I'm positive that if doctors prescribed such beach jaunts to be taken regularly, the need for high blood pressure medication would decrease. The seaside is a place to simply be.
Linking with Mary of the Little Red House for Mosaic Monday.