There is something about the tide that has always attracted me. The tide encroaches on the land twice in twenty-four hours, and every high and every ebb brings new possibilities. Especially after a storm, old shorelines are revealed or concealed, wrecks not seen in a lifetime exposed, and treasures and trash tossed for your examination.
Among the sands, shingle, and cobbles of our New England beaches, you’ll find others like yourself, idly walking with face turned down searching. Some collect beach glass, others driftwood, or shells. And others the ephemera of human life on the water; bits of net, floats and such. You can tell a successful wander along the shore by the bulging pockets or canvas bag full of goodies.
I prefer doing my beachcombing in the morning and then head off to a harbor coffeeshop after I’ve stowed my goodies away. Then I can watch the beachgoers show up in ragged bundles dragging chairs, children, and sunscreen. Depending on the tide, season, and the species of fish running, there will also be anglers with rods, coolers, and gearboxes.
The shops have started to open, and the shopkeepers are coming in for pastry and coffee.
The morning is clear, and while I don’t want to raise my expectations too high, it looks like a good day. An early morning along the shore helps set your day on the proper course and allows you to handle the aggravations of the day with a bit of emotional balance,
I’m off to work.
There was once a time, that’s been on my mind, where I was visited by Tritan at the shoreline. Now, I imagine it’s merfolk leaving gifts to find at low tide, like little gems, and thingamabobs, awaiting their place in my home.