Beach scenes

I never tire of the beauty of the beach. The eternal expanse of the sea humbles and awes. White bubbles glisten and play. The surf’s rhythm soothingly massages. Reflecting what’s below and above, the water’s colors shift from browns to greens to grays to blues, moment by moment, as if alive. What the waves wash ashore are nothing short of treasures. And the beach is different every day.

On our most recent vacation, we visited two favorite beaches, one in North Carolina and one in Florida. These beach visits were in some ways similar to previous ones and in some ways quite different. The first major difference was this January was unbelievably cold.

Seeing a snowman on a beach was a new experience, and most everyone was pretty bundled up, even this lady who was determined to wade barefoot in the surf, no matter how cold.

A second difference, of which I purposely took no picture, was the amount of human flotsam on the Florida beach. The volume of litter—more plastic detritus than seashells— was very disheartening. The lacy edges of surf laps looked like mosaics of tiny triangular seashell shards and bright blue and orange plastic triangles and squares. Appalling number of twist-off bottle caps, all sizes. Whole bottles, smashed. Balloon ribbons poking through the sand. Part of a car engine, about two feet square. Alarming and unbelievable. Whether cruise ships dumped these, or previous beachgoers left them, I don’t know, but it was awful. After two days, the beach returned to its natural beauty, but that just meant all that garbage is now back in the ocean. Distressing.

The most natural ocean detritus was Portuguese man o’ wars, some as tiny as iridescent caterpillars, some as large as upright, translucent calzones. When the tide ebbed, these beautiful, shimmering creatures were left high and dry, abandoned to gnat swarms. :-( Seems such a cruel fate. The venom in their tails has earned them the nickname “floating terror,” so I was careful not to step near one. When I saw a pink and purple man o’ war, its pinched top ridge reminded me of a piecrust edge or triangular spikes on the rounded back of a stegosaurus. I wondered if sci-fi story creators sometimes get their inspiration for fantastical creatures from the natural world.
The squawking of seagulls at the beach is common, but on this trip the sound I heard most was the peeping of peeps and sandpipers. Peep, peep, peep, peep as they scurried on stick-legs to find little shrimps. So cute.

Nothing promises a new day of God’s mercies quite as beautifully as sunrise over the ocean.

And nothing quiets the spirit like pastel reflections of sunset.