The Joy of Rambling

The tide is out, so I have placed my chair on the hard, wet sand as close to the salty water as possible. Here, my toes can squish into the tiny granules and be cooled by the occasional spreading water that passes for waves on this side of Florida. 

I’ve never been to the Gulf, and I am surprised to find it so peaceful and alluring. I tend to be a “big wave” person, having vacationed for years on the coast of Maine where our boogie boards were usually no match for the icy spraying curls that collapsed over us.

I could get used to this sight before me now.

The beach in front of our condo is vast, allowing the crop of blue umbrellas planted here to spread out with ample room between them. I feel virtually alone—in a good way. My private oasis, with just a smattering of childish chatter and gull calls. A far cry from the clamor and exhaust fumes of city life. I adjust my chair-back one more notch to be slightly reclined. I could stare, until Jesus returns, at these tiny waves that shimmer under the afternoon sun. They dance gleefully to music only heard by them, provided by an unseen orchestra led by the Master of creation Himself.

Some distance behind me, a tide pool has formed, and I look over my right shoulder to see a mother playing with her one-year-old, plopping her in and out of the warm, still water. It must feel like a big lake to this child and she giggles with delight, clapping her hands. I wait for the instant the mother’s face lights up. She does not disappoint. 

For parents, these are moments that flit by and vanish quickly, but I am allowed to take a long pause and admire the jubilant interaction. I smile broadly, then turn my head back to the ocean, not wanting to appear the stalker! But the image holds fast in my mind’s eye, and my smile continues.

Suddenly there is an uproar of squawking and honking behind my other shoulder and I turn to see a flock of seagulls landing, in search of food no doubt. I grab my phone, hoping to catch them mid-flight, but they’ve landed before I can open it. I watch for a minute as they scour the sand for treasures. How simple life is for them. They fly, catch, eat, swim and enjoy the beach all day every day. 

I turn back to the lapping waves, and squint at the never-still water sparkling before me. There will, no doubt, be other seagulls in flight to photograph on this trip. 

My eyes are closed, and I breathe in salty sea air as a soft breeze gently splurges me. Could Heaven be any better than this? Most likely, but I have limited capacity to envision it. For now, I’ll take this almost-perfect substitute.

Once again, I hear the sharp, piercing “kee-ow” over my left shoulder and I notice gulls landing, some on the shore, some in the water. I’m still too slow with my camera and miss the flutter. They are now skittering quickly across the wet sand. 

I turn my head a little further and finally notice the impetus of this flitting about. There stands a boy of about nine, no doubt the older brother of the one-year-old. With hands on hips, he watches the creatures as they form their community again on the beach. They are perturbed and shake their wings out while pecking at the sand. I decide it’s ok to stare this time and keep my gaze on the boy. 

All at once he’s running and flailing his arms, sending the seagulls squawking in alarm, flying every which way. Why, that naughty little boy! I say to myself and laugh. How dare he have a perfect moment of childhood! He laughs and twirls, creating increasingly animated complaints from the birds, until finally they take wing again. And I catch it.  

In this photo there is a child, unconcerned with a war taking place across the ocean, unaware that right now, someone might be beating his video game score, unashamed to be seen making sport of annoying these seagulls on a beach.

A boy, being a boy, giving me a slice of life that would have gone unobserved had I not decided to plant myself in this chair on this day. 

Did I decide, or was I Divinely inspired to plop down here? Both, I think. Either way, I’ll take the gift.