Drove to the beach listening to a Wynton Marsalis album called Standard Time Vol. 3: The Resolution of Romance.

Walked down the hill from the parking lot (barefoot, carrying sandles in one hand). Sand everywhere, between toes especially.

Vast green-blue water expanded as far as we could see, from the shoreline all the way to the horizon. Little waves perpetually crashed, trailing a thin lace of bubbles on the sand in their wake. Choppy water is ever in motion. The same is true of the breeze, which doesn’t smell like salt but rather like seaweed and fish. The sky was clear and pale blue.

I waded in up to my knees. The waves crashing into my legs reminded me of an enthusiastic greeting from a puppy at the door upon arriving home.

It was a nice day.

We stooped to collect rocks of varying colors, textures, shapes. Walked parallel to the water in the sand. Eventually felt tired and stretched out on a blanket on the sand in the shade under a tree. I brought a paperback, Steve brought a moral philosophy paper on the subject of autonomy, on which he’s been invited to comment at a conference in New York early next year. He read it out loud, and we talked about it. A good discussion.

Nearby, two mothers watched over three children playing in the sand. They are beautiful. I fed a crumb of a granola bar to a seagull, who lingered afterwards, hoping for more. Two lifeguards change places in a changing of the gaurd.

Returned home safely.