To savoring. The Beach.

Underneath my burned body and blue towel there is white sand. Well, it's more like white sugar cookie with a thin frosting of the richest black. The tide rolls over making it bleed and run and seemingly drip down the white cookie canvas. I could watch it for hours. Making a black rimmed footprint, I watch the wave easily erase my presence back into a smooth slick untouched surface.

To my left there is a colony of crawling crabs. They are spread out over the sand, shells of different size, shape and color all seemingly dancing by their own will. Coming in and out of their burrows in the earth, it appears they are pushing and shoving each other. Their antennas move so rapidly and with all those eyes bulging - I imagine them shouting orders at one another. They are frantic. Enraged at the others incompetence, they are all trying to dictate and mumbling profanities under their breath.

This angry hermit workshop is occasionally interrupted by the stomping of a clumsy paw - with four legs, a wagging tail and a silly grin on its face - this yellow dog has no idea how much she just pissed off the Hermits. I love watching the dogs run wild on the beach. Playing in the waves, rolling in the sand, attacking the other, chasing sticks...And my favorite, well my favorite is when they sit at the waters edge, staring intently, barking occasionally, waiting for their owner to come back in from their morning surf. I love watching the dogs. I find myself watching them almost as much as I watch the sky. Almost.

The last few days the sky at this beach has been a perfect celeste. Layers of white puffy clouds form dinosaurs and strawberries and I swear I spotted Ab Lincoln. The sky lets me know when I should head down to the water because the sun is going to shine through - with all its sizzle and steam I can't handle it without the courage of the cool salt water. And when a big patch of those light airy clouds roll in, this the sky is telling me it would be a good time for a walk. And when it all turns grey, those clouds heavy and dense with all they are holding, this means take cover for the rain is coming. I mostly watch the sky, and now it is telling me with its passing clouds and spots of sunshine - to savor the beach, before I leave it.

How have I said so much and not spoke of the ocean? I guess as its size indicates, it's kind of an overwhelming subject. What can I say besides, its waters are refreshing, its sound is soothing and it does not obey orders. Let's be honest, we know I have tried to command those powerful waves, and we know I have failed. Over time I have learned submission. Submission and Respect. For the ocean holds no favorites and without a seconds pause of hesitation, it will pull you under.

So today I was walking, right along the line where the dark damp sand meets the warm dry sand. Sometimes I like to follow this line, it zigs and zags and like a crazy person my feet do the same. But not today, today I was just walking. And I came across a little fount, water bubbling up from the earth surrounded by all that dry sand, it had created a little pool for itself. I don't know how it works, I'm just saying how it happened. So because of the gurgling cool water, all that fine and airy sand was cleared and pushed away. Removing all the filler and leaving the gems. These gems looked like a pile of rocks, polished stones, smooth shards and tons of shells. A treasure chest free for the looting. I squatted and sorted and took my pick. Four bright purple and pink swirled shells. The colors are dense and soaked, they remind me of spring flowers and swimsuits. Krysta will love them.

There is so much more I could say, for I have yet to speak of all the people that occupy these stretches of sand and the unique culture that has formed around it. I also have not told of the palm trees and coconuts and wild untamed jungle that meets the white sand. I could also speak of the lizards and monkeys and sloths and toucans and paired macaws that make the beach their home. There is so much that could be documented here in these white pages - but I think if I am truly working in the name of savoring, I must get up from this towel and allow myself to be buried by the sand and the salt. And so I go.