Sometimes, I’ve just got to get away. So, I suggested a two hour drive to a Delaware beach—in winter.
It might seem an apathetic endeavor to travel to the ocean and not enjoy the luxury of warm sunshine and a swim in the Atlantic, but just the opposite was true. I found the dichotomy of a day at the beach to be both refreshing and invigorating.
An early-riser, I walked to the sand before dawn and watched as the earth turned slowly toward the sun. The seagulls seemed unfazed by the freezing temperatures; the snowfall from two days earlier still on the boardwalk and parts of the beach.
My favorite time, even at home, is right before dawn. It is the time when preparations are being made, when it’s no longer night, but not quite day. The sky shows signs of what’s to come even before the star of the day shows up. The colors are vivid, striking, with nothing to distract one’s eye from them.
I held my gaze at the spot where I would soon see the sun. It was red, broken by long strands of cloud, causing texture in the landscape. I began to see brightness approaching, but decided to look to the left and was struck by the grandeur of the sky. It is easily missed by those who direct their sights on the luminary of sunrise, and miss the magnificence of the supporting cast.
Later in the day, the beach looked entirely different. A young child moved her feet on the sand, then the snow, then the sand again while her mother photographed her with a cell phone. The grasses were visible, the fence surrounding the protected area in full view. Even the crashing waves shared the spotlight with all there was to see.
The horizon, the depth of distance between this shore and that on the other side of the ocean, made me feel both small and at the same time, significant by the mere presence of my feet firmly planted on the ground.
Leave a Reply