“At the beach, life is different.
Time doesn’t move hour to hour but mood to moment.
We live by the currents, plan by the tides, and follow the sun.”
As winter moseys along here in Australia with frosty mornings and chilly nights, I often find my thoughts drifting to the beach.
I close my eyes and dream of hot sun on my shoulders, soft sand underfoot, the screech of gulls as they dive and swoop for French Fries tossed by little kids.
I long to amble along the beach collecting smooth stones and gnarled bits of driftwood, perhaps even a shell or three to bring home.
Mostly I want to sit on a fallen log and gaze out to sea, thinking little and feeling much.
“the mind wakes, comes to life again.
Not in a city sense—no—but beach-wise.
It begins to drift, to play,
to turn over in gentle careless rolls like those lazy waves on the beach.
One never knows what chance treasures these easy unconscious rollers may toss up,
on the smooth white sand of the conscious mind;
what perfectly rounded stone,
what rare shell from the ocean floor.
Perhaps a channeled whelk, a moon shell, or even an argonaut.”
Anne Morrow Lindbergh
“My day is done, and I am like a boat drawn on the beach,
listening to the dance-music of the tide…”
What are you daydreaming of?