I always appreciate a respite from the usual. I had three days of lovely almost aloneness. Noah, my 17 year old grandson was home -- sort of, the way 17 year olds pop in to sleep and shower and offer a few polite words and go about their lives. But Molly, looking unusually pensive, was my companion on many walks. I watched as her superior nose lead her back and forth, exploring wonders I couldn't even guess. But Molly ignored the vistas along our walk on Long Beach, which, I guess is called an estuary, a long spit of sand, dune, thick patches of beach roses, knee deep dune grass, with an inlet on one side and the ocean on the other. Across the channel were wonderful houses, some very grand, some reasonably modest, all with enviable balconies looking out at the beach and beyond to the ocean.
The name is appropriate for it is a long beach, about a mile long and separated from the busy Craigville beach, but it is public, just little known, a treasure, most of all at 7:30 in the morning with only four or six other people around. May I be forgiven if I mention a "cute kid" story. Eons ago our family flew from upstate to LaGuardia, my daughters were small and had never been in an airplane before. As we circled before landing, making a long sweep eastward over Long Island, Leslie, watching the scene below piped up, "What a long island." Seems a long time ago.
It is getting late so no more tonight, except this picture of the last of the beach roses. The low bushes are adorned as if Christmas were coming tomorrow with big fat red rose hips.
I always appreciate a respite from the usual. I had three days of lovely almost aloneness. Noah, my 17 year old grandson was home -- sort of, the way 17 year olds pop in to sleep and shower and offer a few polite words and go about their lives. But Molly, looking unusually pensive, was my companion on many walks. I watched as her superior nose lead her back and forth, exploring wonders I couldn't even guess. But Molly ignored the vistas along our walk on Long Beach, which, I guess is called an estuary, a long spit of sand, dune, thick patches of beach roses, knee deep dune grass, with an inlet on one side and the ocean on the other. Across the channel were wonderful houses, some very grand, some reasonably modest, all with enviable balconies looking out at the beach and beyond to the ocean. 
The name is appropriate for it is a long beach, about a mile long and separated from the busy Craigville beach, but it is public, just little known, a treasure, most of all at 7:30 in the morning with only four or six other people around. May I be forgiven if I mention a "cute kid" story. Eons ago our family flew from upstate to LaGuardia, my daughters were small and had never been in an airplane before. As we circled before landing, making a long sweep eastward over Long Island, Leslie, watching the scene below piped up, "What a long island." Seems a long time ago. 
It is getting late so no more tonight, except this picture of the last of the beach roses. The low bushes are adorned as if Christmas were coming tomorrow with big fat red rose hips. 
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