I went to the beach the other day,
board in hand, check.
Wax. Check.
Water bottle. Check.
Visions of perfect conditions, solitude and inspiration.
Check, check.
I hurriedly walked down the sandy beach path,
focused only on
me.
I didn’t take the time to notice the sky was the deepest, most beautiful blue,
I had ever seen, if I had seen it.
I stepped over a smooth, white shell
that in days past I would have scooped up and treasured for
many years to come.
It was a rare find indeed,
if only I had taken a moment to find it.
Today, the unusually gentle sand did not scratch
or feel rough on the bottom of my smooth feet.
Instead it snuggled between my toes like pure, white flour
and ever so gently fell away, leaving no trace.
As I rounded the corner,
by the thick, thorny brush, the opening to wide beach
appeared before me.
My pace quickened and I sat down on the sand,
pulled on my booties zipped up my wetsuit put sunscreen on my face attached my leash and made my hastened way to the waters edge.
Only, wait….
There was no edge,
and no water.
Instead in front of me, sat miles and miles of barren land.
No flour like sand with hidden treasures
and no ocean.
A dark ashen, cracked lava like surface
stretched out in front of me for as far as I could see.
The peaceful blue line that had always been so inviting
in the past
was now itself only a memory.
I fell to the cold hard, rude ground
and pleaded with Her that this was a dream,
or a nightmare.
Wake up, wake up, wake up!
I screamed, but
no One was listening.
I beat my fists in to the gray, soul-less earth,
until drops of blood trickle down from my knuckles.
I watch as my bright red blood drips,
deep into the cracks,
instantly turning gray,
and becoming part of the lifeless, barren ground.
My heart that only moments ago,
pounded with child-like excitement
was now barely beating.
The beat was becoming slower and slower
and I thought that this cold land might also
turn my heart to stone.
Overhead the sky was becoming darker,
and the storm clouds that were rolling in,
were,
bit by bit,
stealing the
blue.
If I could breathe,
I would run and touch the soft white sand,
I would dust off the smooth white shell,
and take a moment to notice the gorgeous blue sky overhead.
If I could speak, I would tell Her that I was sorry.
So, so sorry.
For not listening, for not seeing, and for not protecting Her as she had
always,
protected me.
She had been calling out
for some time now
and as she lay dying,
I used Her last breath as my playground.
If I could wake
I would do things differently,
I would save Her.
If only I could wake….
To visit this essay in print, please visit www.ocean.org
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Wishing you all blue skies and long surfs, Chris
**Don’t forget, for the month of January and February, all proceeds from postcards from the road, will also go to the relief effort in Haiti. Email today for a chance to read a great book and help others.
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