Copyrights reserved by the author. If you are in doubt, please click on 'Copyrights' and read the details.Enjoying a walk down heaven’s beach By J. G. Fabiano Most everyone I know took some kind of a vacation to some exotic place in the world that is warmer and supposedly more beautiful than where we normally live. I don’t usually do this but last year I took a week’s vacation to St. Maartin. It was nice, warm, and different but, other than being stranded in an airport for 48 hours because of a storm at home, it was a nice break from the bone-chilling air of February in New England. This year because of realities that I have little control over I did not break away from winter. Suffering through the chills of January, the winds and snows of February, and the gray clouds of March I just stuck it out in the cabin I call home and waited for the sun to save me. A few weekends ago it did and I found out why it is sometimes a good idea not to take a vacation away from where one decided to live. The warmer temperatures and sun decided to come back to me on a Saturday in March and it was like I hit the lottery. Usually the warm foreshadowing of things to come arrives on a Wednesday or Thursday when most of us are stuck in some room staring out a window wanting to enjoy the joy of its arrival. But, this year it decided to arrive on a Saturday. There was no doubt in my mind I had to get my butt moving, grab my old dilapidated chair, and walk down what I consider to be heaven’s beach. Because my legs were finally catching up to my age I decided to drive down to Long Sands Beach in York, Maine. I only drove to where the beach began because I wanted to make my maiden voyage on the sands the longest I could possibly make it. By the way, I was not alone. Everyone who yearned to be able to enjoy the air of the ocean had made the decision to join me on the beach. They would all say it was the other way around. Of course most of them weren’t alone. In fact many of them weren’t with other humans. They had brought their dogs that must have been cooped up in their homes with their owners for the past three months. I am pretty sure most of the dogs did not spend any time in the Caribbean. These were all very happy living things. They were scampering all over the beach picking up anything and everything that were thrown near them. As they were playing I noticed their owners were also playing. Broad smiles adorned their faces because they were finally doing what they were supposed to do with their pets. There is a cliché about what the pets of people look like. They are supposed to look like their owners. I can’t say I noticed this during my walk on the beach but what I did observe was the age of the pets. The young had energetic dogs who only wanted to run and jump while the old had more mature dogs who watched the young one’s play with both disgust and dismay. By the way, I am not only talking about the dogs. As I walked down the winding black trail that overhangs the beach I noticed two people who were sitting on the rectangular slab of concrete that led the overflow of water from the land into the ocean. They were sitting very close with the woman concentrating on her partner playing the guitar. Because it was high tide, and the ocean had pushed itself to the road, it was difficult to hear what he was playing but, then I got caught in a moment of time. As I passed them I noticed half a dozen surfers trying to catch that perfect spring wave. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and it was difficult to see where the ocean ended and the sky began. Behind the surfers was the lighthouse that jutted out into the sea protecting us from nothing. For a microsecond I had the perfect scene played out before me but, then it moved and I moved transcending it into another dimension to be enjoyed by somebody or something else. Moving farther down the beach I observed groups of people clustering in small oblong circles on the thin patch of sand the ocean let them enjoy. Most were staring into the sea contemplating nothing more important than themselves. When they did talk they used the kind and volume of voice one would use in a church for after all they were in the most perfect church of them all. I loved watching the children of the beach especially those who were trapped inside a stroller or some kind of device needed to protect them from something that they need not be protected from. They are seen wide-eyed and open-mouthed wondering what the hell all this is around them. Every day of their young lives they are reminded they are small but, this day is the day they discover everyone is small compared to the enormity of the ocean. I see them smile with this revelation because this means there is hope. People don’t say ‘Hello’ to you when you walk down the beach. Sometimes they look up and smile or nod but rarely does anyone say anything. I think this is because everyone respects the other person’s enjoyment of where they are. No one wants to interrupt the sounds of the sea and the gulls overhead. No one wants to interrupt a thought or a dream the ocean sparked in their minds. Most importantly no one wants to have to start a conversation that would take away from why they were there in the first place. I felt I joined a carnival the other day on the beach. Groups of entertainers had gathered to celebrate the human spirit. Children were running on the sand barely allowing their feet to hit the ground, dogs were flying demonstrating to the world they still had a physical advantage over those who called them ‘boy‘, and the air and sun had come out of hibernation welcoming all who had waited over many winter months to enjoy the reality of why we are all here. The End.
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