Every turn on Hwy 1 revealed beaches and farms with windswept views of the ocean. As we drove south sun overtook the fog and sheets of shining water lay out to the west beyond dunes covered with silver gray vegetation.
After Mom and I stopped in Davenport for lunch, the somnolent afternoon found us rolling into Capitola in traffic, wanting to be reclining on sand.
With Jess and Rhia we went down to “our beach” in sunny freshness rhythmic waves. Finally the blanket was anchored at the corners with sandals and I stretched out. Horizontal on sand under a huge blue sky, tucked in near the sandy cliffs, at rest.
Now time is measured by the stick Rhia stuck in the sand. “No, not a sundial! I don’t want to know what time it is.”
“That’s why this one has no numerals. It points to you are here now.”
Getting feet wet in the surf with Jess prompted me to try a jog down the beach. Running has a long stretch of step, but I have not been running for many a year. So we dog jogged until our breath gave out and turned around and ran back.
Which made digging my belly back into the sand on the blanket even more lovely.
There was no time for awhile, just the freshness of wind and the sound of surf and people’s voices, a few gulls. Then as the sun dropped and the wind picked up we got cold. Time to go.