The beach

I could tell she was from out of town the moment she set her sandaled feet on the beach. The giant floppy hat, the oversized bag holding a wide assortment of things that one might need for a day of sunbathing and paddling in the ocean, pretending she wasn’t just another tourist, that she was born on the coast and this was her domain, that this was just another wasted day spent lying in the sun.

I watched her stake her claim, plant her flag in the form of a giant coca cola beach towel, watched her struggle to rub her sunscreen into her back, twisting and turning every which way, making sure the sunscreen was all rubbed in, leaving no telltale white streaks showing that she didn’t do this every day.

The fact that people do come every day, from every state of every country of this earth, to see our beautiful beach is something I am so immensely proud of. I love this beach; I love its swell and its breaks. I love the slight smell of decay that the waves bring in with them, the roar of the water as it crashes on the sand, pulling you into it, drawing you into it mind, body and soul. Truth be told, I want these outsiders to come, I want them feel what I feel every time I look out at the ocean. I want this woman with the giant floppy hat and the ugly sandals to be sucked into the oceans majesty just like I am every single day. I want her to love this beach as I love this beach.

That said that doesn’t mean I won’t steal her camera the minute she turns her back on me.

A man has to eat after all.