I don’t actually know what drew my eyes to this heart-shaped rock, wedged into the tiny crawl space between the boardwalk and the sand. Maybe it was the sliver of sunlight that fell across the face of it, at just the right moment. That’s how the ocean sometimes presents to us her most precious treasures, isn’t it? Like the lustrous pearl, for instance–tucked into an unassuming oyster shell, waiting for its intended recipient.
The tides are shifting, and there are subtle changes in the slant of light that shines through the sycamore trees at dawn. Summer’s waning, and here we are again, drifting slowly into autumn.
In Southern California, the changes are more subtle. And yet every season brings ashore its own treasures. This is just one of the secrets I learned by reading Ann Morrow Lindberg’s beautiful book, Gift from the Sea.
I thumbed through my copy again last week…familiar passages, fresh insights. Like this one, which speaks to me of nature’s transitions, and to the more intimate changes in our own lives.
Perhaps this is the most important thing for me to take back from beach-living:
simply the memory that each cycle of the tide is valid;
each cycle of the wave is valid;
each cycle of a relationship is valid.
And my shells? I can sweep them all into my pocket.
They are only there to remind me that the sea recedes and returns eternally.
On my way to Goff Island yesterday, I happened upon a family reunion. Tourists, probably, drinking in the winter sunshine after savoring a picnic lunch. The women wore modest clothes and hijabs, and the men wore ankle-length, cotton robes. While the younger children built sand castles, replete with fancy turrets, a teenaged boy –positioned at a distance from his group–dug through the sand, examining and discarding tiny seashell fragments.
I lifted my sunglasses, smiled and waved. They waved back, generous smiles spread across open faces.
I thought I’d read the tide tables right, but Nature keeps her own timetable, doesn’t she? The Island was mostly submerged, so the harbor seals hadn’t yet hauled themselves onto the rocks where they typically congregate.
The ocean heaved and frothed. Seaweed floated in swirling eddies. But while I sensed the seals’ presence, I didn’t see any bobbing heads.
However.
In the sheltered cove, where the turquoise waters deposit their treasures, I found a pearly white seashell–exquisitely shaped, perfectly whole.
I wandered toward the group of children, seashell cradled in my palm; and when I reached the spot where the older boy knelt, I slowly opened my hand.
I saw in his face a kindred soul, someone for whom simple things oftentimes bring about the greatest joy.
I spread my fingers wide, and the seashell spiraled downward. It landed gently in the boy’s lap, as if it were meant to be there, all along.
“Thank you,” he said softly, in beautifully accented English.
You’re so welcome, I thought, but I let my heart do the talking.
It was a quick exchange, no fanfare or fancy wrappings, but it felt to me like a Christmas blessing.
It’s the height of tourist season, but on this cool, damp morning, the beach is almost empty. A marine layer hugs the coastline, blanketing everything in fog. I walk at the water’s edge, soothed by the lullaby of the drifting tide and a seagull’s muffled cries.
Gentle waves drift ashore–foamy crests on steely-gray water. I contemplate the ebbs and flows of my own life, and pull my loved ones close in my thoughts. It’s a primal urge, I think, this wanting to absorb with all our senses these “gifts from the sea.”
When the fog lifts, I scan the horizon with my camera. Could it be? At the furthest reach of my zoom lens–below the oceanfront mansions with floor-to-ceiling windows and expansive balconies–a herd of seals has taken up temporary residence on the craggy, offshore rocks.
A seagull flaps its wings frenetically, as if to say to the napping seal, “Wake up, sleepy head!!” But the seal just blinks really slow, rolls away from this annoyance, and goes about the business of being a mammal who loves nothing more than snoozing by the sea.
Meanwhile…another type of drama!
A jogger passes me, circles back to see what I’m filming. “You a tourist?” he asks.
“No…”
I must’ve looked puzzled, because he points to my camera.
“Oh, this. I always take it with me.”
Why? Because you never know when you might come upon a heart-shaped piece of sea glass, nestled into Mother Nature’s jewelry box. And who knows? You might also find yourself at the threshold of something new –deeply satisfying but wholly unexpected.
For Part II of my video shoot (sounds of the sea, seagulls & seals), click here.
