Somehow summer days at the beach seem to exist outside of time. They float on this warm bubble where clocks and calendars cannot intrude. The same rituals are repeated over and over.
Children go crabbing hauling colorful plastic pails and someone shrieks when a crab gets cross about the whole thing.
Adults gather in little clutches and talk in undulating verbal circles.
An ice cream truck circles the parking lot weaving its pied piper song into the salt air.
A toddler throws rocks at the water while his bathing suit creeps down his chubby waist.
And a lifeguard keeps watch over it all, swinging a whistle in lazy circles while the waves roll in.
Recent Comments