the beach is all the same and the beach is all different

You walk along the beach and you see the sand and you see the ocean and you see the sky. Every day. That never changes. But every day when you walk along the beach things change and the more you look and listen, the more you see and hear those changes. It is being mindful in the world. It is stopping and standing still. It is kind of like poetry.

Today I walked up to the high spot in the dunes where the surfers go to hunt out the best place to get a ride on the waves (we don’t walk in the dunes much at Bethells as the dotterel nest there). I saw all these sticks with flashes of bright paint and tiny ribbons and I wondered if it was art or a secret code or a navigation tool or for the birds or the dune plants.

I saw a plump gull tearing and ripping away at a fish skeleton, too greedy to fly as I got close. It stretched its neck and tore and ripped, and stretched its neck and tore and ripped.

The water on the sand was shining with its gorgeous sky-cloud reflection. It looked all shiny and new. Then a puffy dottorel walked past. They hardly ever fly, they walk fast like clock-work birds scuttling in zigs and zags to get away. But today it stopped and looked at me.

 

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