The
beach, as usual, is gorgeous, but very, very different this year from last: as
far north and south as my eye can see it looks like three feet of depth of sand
has washed out compared to my last time here.
That’s a lot of sand. And above the tide line there is a steep ledge
about four feet high that rises to the vegetation level, grasses and sedges
beginning there almost immediately. The high tide right now is washing up
against the ledge, and above that, the walking zone varies in width from twenty
feet at most to as narrow as three.
I
know it is likely just an unusual surge in recent days. It IS hurricane
country, after all. But it still leaves the impression of almost no beach. How
different from a year ago, when the beach was spacious and wide, a huge playlot
for the kids. 100 feet wide? 150? Today that play space is gone. This afternoon
the frisbee tossers and football throwers will be tripping over the sunbathers,
if they’re here at all.
Beach
gone? Where does it go? Does the sand just wash out and fill in the depressions
on the continental shelf? Does it work its way out further? What exactly pulls
it all out? And what force, or combination of forces, ultimately restores it?
I am this
beach, different this year
than last,
changed this day from
yesterday,
altered, yet the same.
Beaches
are constantly changing, as are, to a less noticeable degree, the dunes that
back them. It may be wildly different or subtle, but it is almost always
evident. Even on a beach that seems from one day to the next to be level and elevationally
unchanged, today I find a
I
am this beach, different this year than last, changed this day from yesterday,
altered, yet the same.
Blow
your quickening winds over me, Lord. Force the clean currents of your Spirit
against my obstinate shores. Shape me in every way your will intends, and
sculpt me constantly into such beauty that would bring you as much delight as
this beach does me.
~~ RGM, from an entry years ago in my old
nature journal,
after a beach hike at Hobe Sound NWR,
Florida
