Sea Foam

White

Frothy foam

Sweeps the beach

Now where to go

But hugging spans of sand        

Piling up like Tide soap suds         

A pungent odor of decay wafts upward    

From many algae species as red tide dies      

Referred to as phytoplankton under a science microscope seen      

After dark magical blue radiance dances among waves       

Drawing a crowd to beaches still closed    

Taking a mind off a shutdown      

Soon it will die out     

Like the COVID 19

Then comes holidaymakers

Celebrating summer

Free!

Bouquet and Sunset

Lonely as a sentinel it stood, atop a weathered post overlooking the Pacific Ocean but guarding nothing.   A small, clear, plastic bottle with a narrow white band near the opening was the placeholder for an array of weeds and dainty, purple flowers soaking in life-sustaining water. 

A cool breeze skimmed the surface of the ocean nearby, racing up the bluff and fluttering the small delicate petals of the Calandrinia and waving the Foxtail which were arranged in the no-label bottle.  And in the background, out over the horizon the yellow paintball of a setting sun seemed to touch the blades of the Foxtail on its way to nightfall.

Remember back when you were a child and you spotted a blooming weed (maybe a dandelion or Yellow Woodsorrel mixed among clover) and you lovingly plucked it from the earth and with pride took it home to your mother.  She was so excited to receive the gift and always found a container, maybe a widemouthed Mason jar or a favorite cup, and carefully arranged the weed bouquet till it wilted away.  Both of you were happy!

And here, a primitive bouquet of wildflowers, so to speak waited.  But how did it get there?  Who carefully plucked this bouquet, found the small plastic bottle, filled it with water, and carefully arranged the bunch?  Was it a present for a lover?  Was it a gift from a child?  Was it in remembrance of a friend? Or just maybe it was to honor the day and add to the mystery of the disappearing sun. 

But it was left in a lonely place, not seen by many.  Maybe that was the plan, after all.  A quiet and peaceful offering.  Or maybe because it was a bouquet of quickly plucked flowers and weeds it did not make the cut for the journey home.  For whatever the reason it was left, other than prompting dreamy speculation, it brought me a moment of pleasure to contemplate its beauty being kissed by the setting sun.

 

Stacking Stones

The Southern California beach access was just opened for walkers, joggers and those who need some fresh air.  (It was opened earlier for the surfers, swimmers, and paddle boarders.)  No, you cannot lay your blanket on the sand to enjoy natural vitamin D, you must keep moving.  And you are officially reminded of the local rules by the bland voice constantly blurting out threats over the loudspeakers calling out the malingerers.

So up and down the beach the masses strolled without purpose.  Some stopped beneath an overhanging bluff, wet from seeping water from above, where there was a line of stones stacked one on the other:  Rock balancing or stone stacking, they call it.  Some reached out and added to the formations, but most just looked and admired the handiwork and patience of those unknowns who balanced the rocks, one atop the other.

Were these freshly constructed?  Were they built before the beaches were closed due to the COVID-19 Pandemic?  Are these a sign that, “We’re back?”  Are these a monument to the sacrifices we have made waiting for the beach to open?  A sign of remembrance?  A trail marker showing that you are on the right path?

Rock stacking is popular along the California beaches where these ocean rocks and stones are easily found.  It takes time to find the perfect stone in the surf, smoothed over time from pounding waves, grinding them down to the flat mass that is perfect for beach stone stacking.   And in solitude a hand is dipped into the cold wave and the perfect rock is retrieved to add it to the shrine being built. 

With a bit of imagination and a steady hand, the rock stacks are carefully constructed.  Each stone is selected with purpose:  some for color, some for size and some for shape.  The work is slow and intentional, as each stone is judiciously placed on the stack.  A balancing act, so to speak.  

Some do it for the simple fun or challenge, some do it with a spiritual purpose, others do it to leave their mark: “We were here… and here is an Instagram pic of the proof!”

As Joshua did thousands of years ago, rocks were piled in the middle of the Jordan River as a reminder to the future generations of what had happened at that spot.   But tonight, I would like to think that the chimneys of rocks are as a footprint of those who, through creative and meditative activity, rejoiced in the spirit of their freedom as we begin to put the pandemic behind us.