Summer morning

8:00 A.M. is not so very early on a summer morning, and yet there was no one on this long expanse of beach ... just me and the gulls and sanderlings and a few crows. At my feet lay ,the morning's arrangements of [now] stilllifes -- that shortly before were not still as the waves arranged them: the succulent, squishy fat seaweed, the deepest green and occasional strands that for reasons I do not know, are pure white, random shells, mostly broken, some entangled. And randomly the horseshoe crab shells that are washing up daily this time of year -- a connection to the world of the dinosaurs.
In quiet joy and peace I followed that beach all the way to the end where, the day before, I walked silently past a woman who had brought her towel and was doing yoga. She deserved her peace and aloneness and I tried not to intrude. If there is such a thing as tidescape, and I believe there is and surely someone makes a habit of painting or photographing it, it is an ever changing phenomenon that holds my attention every day. The freshly expelled shells are subtly pink or blue or shades of brown running to chalky white. Everything glistens with wetness.

By the time I was returning I noticed on the far horizon sails of several boats as if a regatta were in progress. Closer to shore, where the turning tide offered a nearly smooth surface, I saw again the paddle boarding women I saw a few days ago -- serenely floating as they gently propelled themselves across the bay toward just a little in front of where the top photo was taken. Nearer to me many of the local gull flock were taking their morning rest on this jumble of rocks which are entirely covered by water when the tide is high. The only sounds were occasional gulls and crows.