We recently returned from a quick weekend getaway to our favorite beach.
The beach–even in January, when it’s really too cold to sit on the sand for long–always inspires.
She makes you think just a little bit more.
About life. And love. And God. And time.
(“The sands of an hourglass,” and all that good stuff.)
A lot has been written of the beach.
Beautiful, lyrical things like this from Sara Teasdale:
“When the long day goes by
And I do not see your face,
The old wild, restless sorrow
Steals from its hiding place.
My day is barren and broken,
Bereft of light and song,
A sea beach bleak and windy
That moans the whole day long.
To the empty beach at ebb tide,
Bare with its rocks and scars,
Come back like the sea with singing,
And light of a million stars.”
Or from Jimmy Buffett:
“Nibblin’ on sponge cake,
watchin’ the sun bake;
All of those tourists covered with oil.
Strummin’ my six string on my front porch swing.
Smell those shrimp
They’re beginnin’ to boil.
Wasted away again in Margaritaville,
Searchin’ for my lost shaker of salt.
Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame,
But I know it’s nobody’s fault.”
She does it for us all.
I think I’ll go write a poem. (Or have a margarita.)