Three story tall kelp plants are strewn up and down the beach. I love them because there are millions of tiny poppers attached to and scattered about. The rubbery little pods are filled with air and when I walk on them they pop and crunch. It is deeply satisfying--maybe in the same way that a child chases a soap bubble, sticks his finger into its middle, then squeals with delight.
In a few days time, the kelp will start to rot, and if not cleaned up, will turn the lovely salt air into a nauseating stench. The big truck with the claw attachment will soon be here to rake it into piles and cover it with sand. It will eventually degrade.
I'm passing rows and rows of these giant kelp plants when a person, a beautiful, strong, athlete hurdles them like they are markers on a track. She wears tiny bottoms and a tiny bikini top and every muscle ripples with her movement. What a beautiful moment.
I continue my walk, take a moment to stretch, then turn and head back in the direction I came.
I see her again. Only this time she is dancing. In and out of the surf. AH, she is a dancer, and her dance is choreographed because I see her count, and I see hand movements that belong to her song and her dialogue. Her movements are breathtaking and I have no shame as I pass her to turn around and continue to watch her dance. She piruoettes perfectly, looks directly into my eyes acknowledging I see you. The smile that follows is as stunning as her moves. I am mesmerized, inspired, and smile joyfully. I signal to her with a thumbs up to convey how much I appreciate her absolute stunning and beautiful movement. I watch her until she stops dancing.
Everything looks just a little more important after I witness her talent and connection to the sea and the sand. I pick up my pace, skip in the low surf and watch the swirl with a little more appreciation.
She gave me some of her joy. lt was infectious. Even as I write, hours after our encounter, I am near tears. It was a spear through my soul.
A half hour farther down the beach, a woman lying on a surfboard, shouts out "Whoo hoo." The wave ends, she stands, and I see she's at least 75 years old. Again, I am unashamed to turn around and watch her surf. But she doesn't surf. She pushes out to the first surf break, lays down on her board and rides in the next wave, and the next. This woman's joy is infectious too.
I don't want to hold back on my own joy, because as I learn on a simple walk, whether we realize it or not, joy is something we give away...
As is hope, kindness, fear, hate, and love.
In a few days time, the kelp will start to rot, and if not cleaned up, will turn the lovely salt air into a nauseating stench. The big truck with the claw attachment will soon be here to rake it into piles and cover it with sand. It will eventually degrade.
I'm passing rows and rows of these giant kelp plants when a person, a beautiful, strong, athlete hurdles them like they are markers on a track. She wears tiny bottoms and a tiny bikini top and every muscle ripples with her movement. What a beautiful moment.
I continue my walk, take a moment to stretch, then turn and head back in the direction I came.
I see her again. Only this time she is dancing. In and out of the surf. AH, she is a dancer, and her dance is choreographed because I see her count, and I see hand movements that belong to her song and her dialogue. Her movements are breathtaking and I have no shame as I pass her to turn around and continue to watch her dance. She piruoettes perfectly, looks directly into my eyes acknowledging I see you. The smile that follows is as stunning as her moves. I am mesmerized, inspired, and smile joyfully. I signal to her with a thumbs up to convey how much I appreciate her absolute stunning and beautiful movement. I watch her until she stops dancing.
Everything looks just a little more important after I witness her talent and connection to the sea and the sand. I pick up my pace, skip in the low surf and watch the swirl with a little more appreciation.
She gave me some of her joy. lt was infectious. Even as I write, hours after our encounter, I am near tears. It was a spear through my soul.
A half hour farther down the beach, a woman lying on a surfboard, shouts out "Whoo hoo." The wave ends, she stands, and I see she's at least 75 years old. Again, I am unashamed to turn around and watch her surf. But she doesn't surf. She pushes out to the first surf break, lays down on her board and rides in the next wave, and the next. This woman's joy is infectious too.
I don't want to hold back on my own joy, because as I learn on a simple walk, whether we realize it or not, joy is something we give away...
As is hope, kindness, fear, hate, and love.
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