An Arena of Sand

We took a beach walk a few days ago.

The day was glorious.

The sky waas blue.

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Coquina came too.

She always has a good time.

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She even has a good time smelling rocks.

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She’s so beach-colored that “Arena”, the Spanish word for “Sand”, was on the short list when we were choosing a name for her.

We’d been to the beach about ten days previously. Spring was making its first appearance. Today, spring’s signs were further along. Beach pea shoots had emerged.

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Rosa rugosa buds had burst, new shoots were unfurling first leaves.

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I saw mystery tracks in a bare area on top of a dune.

I found out later who had made them.

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Crowtracks.

Overall was blue.

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Underblue, sand.

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Out here, the wind is almost ceaseless.

Sand accumulates in layers, in strata.

Wind exposes these layers.

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Sometimes the wind blows sand to angles of impossible steepness.

Then the certainty of gravity pulls down, down.

And the sand seeks its angle of repose.

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Wind sorts the grains of sand by density.

Black grains and white grains ripple and sort.

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Still above is the blue.

Making a backdrop for Coquina.

Whose arena is this beach, this sand.

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