I finished the last of the immediate tasks this morning, and let the car take me where it wanted to go, since nothing and nowhere appealed to me. I found myself after a while pulling into our old parking spot in Beach Grove, by the boat ramp. And the tide was high, the wind cold, and the beach deserted; just the setting for a melancholy trudge along the rocks.
There is healing in the eternal wash of waves on stones, each one subsiding with a whisper, leaving space for the one behind. And the next, and the next, and the next; never stopping to let you hold the moment, indulge your mood. Life goes on, with enthusiasm.
Five herons flew overhead, in a straight line and a hurry. Snails rested on rocks, catching the last bit of sunshine before the water swallowed them again. A couple of men arrived with their kites, blue and yellow. I sat on a log to watch them and idly poked at the dried eelgrass at my feet; beach hoppers scattered in all directions, like popcorn on a hot stove.
Life goes on.
I walked back across the dunes, looking at new growth; large-headed sedge, Scotch broom, beach peas, sea rocket just starting to bloom, purple dead-nettle; the bees and butterflies will be busy this spring. And something called out, loudly, "Peet! Peet!"
|Do you see it?|
|Zooming 'way in. She looks worried.|
A killdeer. Her nest is probably somewhere in the middle of the beach pea patch; she led me on a merry chase all around the outskirts, never getting too far away, but never leading me towards the centre. Every few minutes she would call again, keeping my attention on her, not on a possible nest. I was hoping for the broken wing act, but she didn't think it was necessary.
Eventually, she led me to the road off the beach, decided that was far enough away from home, and flew back.
|She's a bit more visible with the wings spread.|
Life goes on. And so will I. But I wish Laurie had been with me to see the killdeer.