Windy beach and shadows

Folly Beach, 4 pm

There are people out all over the beach today — tall people, short people, dogs (lots of them), a child being pulled in a wagon. It’s low tide, and that is nice. One would think it was a pleasant and warm summer afternoon in June rather than a rather cold mid-February day alongside the chilly Atlantic Ocean.

It’s cool now as I write, with a stiff wind off the ocean, and enough waves to create the ceaseless sounds of surf. It almost seems strange to be listening to the ocean in late winter. We’re caught between seasons again. I’m not sure what it is now.

But it’s a beautiful and sunny day. I can see that. A rather carefree day overall, one would think. To all outward appearance, that is. However, I feel the cold despite the sun, and with that cold, the urge to withdraw from people. I don’t want to be near them now. I’m not looking their way as they pass. They must hardly notice me. They in their groups — the couples, the families, the dogs, the beachcombers, the bicyclists. All coming and going, and me, aware of their presence, but that’s all. It’s a curiously empty feeling that comes from being alone in your own company so often, and for such protracted periods of time. That’s why I could probably never live out here. I would become a rather morose hermit in short order. The hustle and bustle of the city and my job keep me engaged with people. Otherwise…

But there is so often this ambivalence when I’m here at the beach. I retreat deep into the thoughts and terrain of interior landscapes, and from these places I find it difficult to emerge. Not that I find these realms of solitary imaginings that comforting or light-filled today. They just are where I am and it’s all kind of a blank.

I drift into thinking about what it might be like if my life had taken a different path. If there was a family of my own, friends to visit and think about instead of myself. My gosh, I have the same problem that plagues the young — an unwitting pre-occupation with myself. It’s not a pleasant thought when you are my age. One half excuses it in the youth. After all, they have their whole lives ahead of them.

I find it difficult at times to reconcile getting older and being alone because solitude is both a companion and an excuse to avoid people. I need to be alone, I always say. But what am I *really* saying? I don’t just need it — I am.

(A few minutes later)

I have just come back from a short walk up the beach. That’s the thing about keeping yourself company. You can walk as quickly or as slowly as you want. When I turned around after watching a pelican dive into the water for a fish, I noticed what a brisk pace I was keeping up and how energetic I was. I feel good, actually, physically. And, I kept pace with my full shadow, walking slightly ahead of me, of course. My, but I am tall, and shadows make me appear so much thinner. That shadow of myself was quite impressive, and kept up with me quite nicely.

This is the type of idle reflection I engage in when I have little to say to himself or this journal, and even less to think about, other than the fact that the cool air is starting to work it’s way through my windbreaker, the beach is beginning to empty out at last (I’ve never seen so many dogs running around all over the place; happy creatures, too). The sun is getting progressively lower in the sky. It’s not a very comfortable feeling, and I’m staying out here in spite of myself. I think the wind has shifted — maybe that’s what it is.

Now, the magic the beach usually weaves about me is gone. The marsh in back of the beach house will be quieter. The winds still. The mudflats exposed. Winter will still be very much in the air.