Generally speaking I think of silence, solitude and simplicity as quiet, alone and without anything to do. But whenever I walk on the beach I discover, once again, that circumstances keep definitions fluid. This morning, on this clear day after the snow storm, a group of us were out there. Not as a group, but as individuals who simply wanted to enjoy the moment. All of us, with one exception: a woman shoveling and worrying about the next storm.
There was Jane, whose house is right on the beach, feeding bread and cherry tomatoes to the gulls, and very intent that a small, one-legged gull get her share. A windsurfer and I agreeing that we love all the kinds of winter weather. A woman keeping up with her frisky puppy. All of us commenting on the number and size of rocks thrown up by the sea.
This was a day when we wanted to exchange more than nod with our fellow beach friends. It was a day when we could remember to be grateful. On my way home I looked in vain for the lady with the shovel. I was hoping to offer her some gratitude.
There was Jane, whose house is right on the beach, feeding bread and cherry tomatoes to the gulls, and very intent that a small, one-legged gull get her share. A windsurfer and I agreeing that we love all the kinds of winter weather. A woman keeping up with her frisky puppy. All of us commenting on the number and size of rocks thrown up by the sea.
This was a day when we wanted to exchange more than nod with our fellow beach friends. It was a day when we could remember to be grateful. On my way home I looked in vain for the lady with the shovel. I was hoping to offer her some gratitude.
