Over the water

I have just returned from a solo beach trip. I was unable to secure any companions for my mandatory beach trip (and by mandatory, I mean that there was absolutely nothing else I wanted to do today but find one of my more favorite secluded beaches and just park it). So, I went by myself.

The beach I settled on is not nearly as popular as its neighboring, huge state beaches, which makes for a more relaxing time. This particular beach has huge rock formations, caves and really beautiful nooks and crannies, if beaches can have such things. The weather was fantastic and the water was actually warm.

There is almost nothing like sitting in the sand and staring out at the water, its character so much like God's--unending, beautiful, terrifying and inspiring.

I was born near the water and have always been drawn to it. The ocean is a permanent fixture in my life. And yet, as familiar as it can seem, it never ceases to amaze me. I can gaze for hours at it, play in it, and stand in awe of it. I can run in with abandon and in an instant, when something foreign brushes my leg, be reminded that there is so much I don't know of it.

Today the weather changed quite often. One minute the haunting presence of a cloud would settle over the water, the next it would burn off and the sun would warm me as I read. It is on days such as these that I am reminded of why I've never really had any desire to leave Los Angeles. The siren call of the waves gets me every time.