Release

There,

At the end of the land,

I came upon the surging waves

Incessantly striving

To crawl upon the dunes

And continue their journey

But alas,

Their energy was spent.

Turmoil

Turned to peace within

As I listened to the dim roar

Of their anguish

Which seemed to release

The tension that had built

Inside me

And I, as well, rested.

Release and Renewal

Then, at the end of my walk

I came to the place

Where the waters meet the land,

Incessantly moving

In their restless quest

To reduce it to sand.

It was a place of peace

And the sound of birds

Permeated the light breeze,

Wafting scents of salt air,

Replacing the heat of day

With coolness of night.

Without shoes I paced

The damp, fine grains,

Soothing the tiredness

Which drained into the

Surging waters lapping

About my feet.

Cares, unwinding from

My shoulders and my heart,

Fell unbidden into

The frothy waves

To be carried away

And devoured.

Release became

Renewal.

Sometimes we just need to get away to a place that allows us to forget the cares of the day and the burdens of work.  We need to be renewed.  I'm not a fan of a hot sandy beach with the sun beating down, but to me, there is nothing more relaxing than walking along the shore as evening approaches, or early on a cool morning when there are few people about.  Very rarely have I had such experiences because I have lived my life far from the ocean, but the few I have are anchored in my mind in such a way that I can call them up and remember the peaceful feeling.

(Photo taken at Marco Island, Florida, a few years ago.) 

In Need of a Beach

In my mind I hear the rhythm of the waves as they wash up on a sandy shore.  The breeze is light, yet heavy with the moisture of the waters over which it is passing.  Raucous gulls ride the currents in the early morning beams of sunshine peeking through low clouds on the horizon that mute the colors of the dawn into purples and pinks and oranges that diffuse into each other.  Pelicans skim the edges of the breakers as they roll inward, seeking the silvery shapes that dart just below the surface.

I resist the urge to wander along the firm, moist edge where the water surges onto the beach.  I might seek the shells and sand dollars that have washed up during the night but instead, I sit and breath deeply of the salt air in the coolness of the morning.  The lapping, rolling, surging, washing, renewing waters lull me into tranquility.

With a jolt I awake to the needs of the day and climb out of bed to once again face the routine.  I think the ocean is calling....

A Brief Beach Respite

We arrived at our destination near the Gulf Coast and found we had about 4 hours until it was necessary to get ready for the event we were there to attend.  After checking into our hotel we decided to make a quick run to the beach.  After all, who can resist the temptation when you are as close as we were?  It was only a short distance to the small town of Matagorda, Texas, at the mouth of the Colorado River.

The highway runs along the banks of the Colorado which in reality has been confined to a dredged channel that makes its way in straight lines through the tidal flats behind the line of barrier islands that line the coast of Texas.  As we headed toward the shore, on our left was what appeared to be an unending landscape of water and grasses, wading birds and sand, while on our right were brightly colored houses on stilts with driveways full of boats on our side, or boats tied to docks on the water side which was to their rear.  The Colorado made a perfect highway for the marine traffic headed in and out of the Gulf.  There were all types of craft from shrimp trawlers to speed boats.

The estuarial flats to our left held many waterfowl of various types.  The large number of egrets and herons on their long legs, probing the mud with their pointed beaks is always interesting.  There were also occasional fishermen, mostly with small seines which they threw into the deeper pools in search of baitfish.

As we approached the end of the highway we could see a low line of barrier dunes with another line of colorful stilt-houses angling away to the north, while to the south, the river widened into the terminus of Matagorda Bay which stretched further to the southwest, its entrance being much further to our south at Port O'Conner.

Having only a small amount of time and not being dressed appropriately for the beach, we were contented to walk out on the public pier which jutted out into the gulf.  It ran long and straight across the dunes and out over the water for a couple of hundred yards, terminating in a stairway that led down to the artificial barrier which stretched even further as a protection against erosion of the beach to our south.

We stood for a good while near the end of the pier watching the fishermen occasionally reel in a bull red or a black drum from the surging waters.  The brown pelicans floated upon the water until drawn to sail along the crest of the incoming waves, riding unseen currents pushed ahead of the water as it swelled toward the wide sandy beaches.

The peacefulness of the incessant waves washing the sand and the cool ocean breeze was a calming respite difficult to leave.

Antique Sailor

I want to promote a fellow blogger. Antique Sailor just wrote a book about her (a grandmother) voyages sailing around the oceans of this beautiful planet. She has posted a few excerpts on her blog. Let's all encourage her.