Sand burned our feet as Jeanne Lupton and I walked toward the water on Ocean Beach. It was a rare day in San Francisco. No fog, light breeze, temperature in the low seventies.
Low tide, exposing pieces of broken sand dollars, crabs, and blobs of jelly fish. The breeze lifted vapor into the air and masked the beach with mist. I combed the beach, always looking for nature’s gifts, and found a stone lined with a fossil.
We sat on a log. My cell phone rang. It was father. He was waiting for Meals On Wheels and they have not shown up. I called them. They said they are running late with the delivery.
The sea’s haunting voices rushed into my left ear. Its ten thousand echos pounded my mind. A dog rushed into the waves to retrieve a stick. Happy, happy.
