We took a beach walk a few days ago.
The day was glorious.
The sky waas blue.
Coquina came too.
She always has a good time.
She even has a good time smelling rocks.
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.
Rosa rugosa buds had burst, new shoots were unfurling first leaves.
I saw mystery tracks in a bare area on top of a dune.
I found out later who had made them.
Overall was blue.
Out here, the wind is almost ceaseless.
Sand accumulates in layers, in strata.
Wind exposes these layers.
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.
Wind sorts the grains of sand by density.
Black grains and white grains ripple and sort.
Still above is the blue.
Making a backdrop for Coquina.
Whose arena is this beach, this sand.