Monday, March 8, 2010

Under the Pier

After searching in the morning for work and editing resumes on Friday, I headed down to the White Rock beach. 

I walked under the pier for the first time ever.  All these years of visiting, I can't believe I've never gone down onto the beach, with or without Jason.  I was making my way along the pier (on the top) and looked down.  The tide was out quite a ways that day and, before I knew it, I was walking, almost sinking, slightly, on the wet sand.  I stopped and just stood there, watching other people farther down the beach.  I dug into my packsack and pulled out my camera, loaded it with yet another film, and walked towards where the water settled into little pools. 

It felt strange being below the pier.  The thumps overhead of people walking and running on the pier had a sense of music to it.  I'm sure it didn't matter to the seagulls that I was there, knowing they were used to people sharing the space.

The sun was warm and it was lovely seeing the birds in the shaded pools of water, some just floating, others splashing themselves and ducking underwater for a quick fishy meal.

Since I'd only lived in land-locked provinces (except for Kingston, which was on Lake Ontario), I had never seen barnacles up close.  There was a strange, ugly, beauty about the crustaceans the way they attached themselves to anything (eg. boats, posts of piers, etc.).  I want to read up on them further as I heard Charles Darwin had studied them. Also, I had forgotten that they were actual living creatures (an embarrassing confession).  Now that I live near the ocean, so many things to see.  My mother told me that the crabs start coming out before long and eat the barnacles.  Soon I can look forward to seeing starfish feeding on them as well.

The sand had amazing patterns with lines here and there that snaked themselves North to South; rippled hills of sand from many tide cycles.  I'm sure I'll go to the water tomorrow and see the ripples in a different pattern.  I could see the delightful temptation of people of all ages wanting to tramp down the hills of sand.  Other sections were totally smooth, almost perfect from not being stomped on  I tried not to step on the numerous small shells that were imbedded in the sand.  Perfection also came in the form of a beatiful and complete rose.  I'm sure it had been tossed in memory of a loved one.

I'm amazed at how much I miss when I don't look closely at something.

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