If someone hasn’t yet coined that particular phrase I will call it my own. Get me close to the beach and you’ll have difficulty dragging me away. I could wander for hours, head down, scanning for interesting bits that have washed ashore. Are there any career opportunities for beachcombers?

I like it best when the beach is deserted except for a few people out for their morning exercise. It’s quiet. The only sounds are the high-pitched cry of the gulls and the crash and boom of the waves as they come in, followed by their hissing retreat. So, every morning my feet propel me to the water’s edge. The sand is packed and wet here. My feet leave solid but squishy footprints and my big toe throws up a clump of sand that falls in front of me as I walk.

The sand is like a canvas that is continually in a state of flux. Every time a wave washes over it, objects on the canvas get deposited, rearranged, taken away, or erased. It’s fascinating to me and I never tire of it.  Each morning I am eager to see what the canvas of sand has “painted” for me. Let’s take a look. (Just for the record, everything is photographed the way I found it. No rearranging has been done.)

I call this painting “Three Organisms: Man: Bird: Jellyfish”

“CrabFest”

“Mussel Beach”

“Caught in the Tide Line”

“Jelly Jewel”

“Jelly Jewel Two”

“Hitching a Ride”

“Jelly-Belly”

“The Mermaid’s Necklace”

“Whorled Beauty”

As I stand at the water’s edge, the foam from the breaking wave laps at my ankles. I try to stand upright as the wave pulls back, sucking at me with all its might, trying to pull me into the ocean along with it. It seems to murmur softly, come on, join me in the deep blue sea. The water rushes backwards in a dizzying display, making me feel disoriented and off-kilter. My toes curl under in a desperate attempt to keep a foothold as the sand rushes out from underneath them. My feet sink lower into the sand as the wave retreats in defeat. Not this time old man Neptune—not this time.

I am not alone at the water’s edge. I have a few friends that like it here too.

I think I enjoyed the tiny sandpipers the most. They made me laugh. The constant scurry-hurry back and forth between waves in search of food seemed like a lot of effort for one small morsel. Can you see that it has something in its beak?

Here, look closer:

It’s hard for me to leave all the treasure I find behind. Here is what I took home with me. A shell that’s a bit battered but has a lovely patina to it; several small scallop shells; bits of shell that have been tumbled and polished like smooth stones; an intact cocina shell.

And last but not least, a beautiful wafer-thin piece of polished shell that just happened to have a hole in the right place to use it as a necklace.

Reminders all, of my morning strolls at the water’s edge.