Manhattan Beach, early morning

I felt like taking a walk on the beach early this morning. We have many scenic beaches in this part of the world, but the one nearest me does not fit that description, particularly. :)

But I don't mind. It has sand, it has seagulls, it has roaring surf. And hardly any people, because they all go to the pretty beaches. So it's perfect for me, because what I like to do is to scramble to the end of the jetty and watch the crabs and sea urchins go about their business in the pools formed by the receding tide.

I think maybe the lesson I was there to learn today lies in how the tide pool creatures pace themselves. They make determined progress, doing whatever it is they're doing, when the tide draws most of the water out of their environs and they have a moment of peace. A moment later another wave sweeps in, impeding progress and maybe rearranging the territory a little.

The crabs don't seem to brace themselves against the crashing water; they just relax and let it come. They know it's only a momentary thing, and they know they can't control it. Their job is to deal with how things are when the icy water leaves again. They figure it out. I don't think they plan it ten moves ahead, like in a chess game. And like I always try to do.

Today I will try to relax into the waves, patient and willing to reassess course when I see which way is the new "up."

 

The sky and the water were the same shade of grey when I arrived at the beach around 8am. I hoped the sun would burn through the overcast while I was there but it didn't. It seemed like good light for photography, though. I wish I knew how to use this camera better.

 

Anyway, from a distance, the rocks that form the jetty appeared to be the same even, ubiquitous grey as everything else, but up close they are a cacophony of textures and colors. Every surface is either richly encrusted with mussels, barnacles or moss, or it's sanded smooth by the incessant pounding of surf and wind.

 

One of the boulders caught my eye because it glinted in what little sunshine there was. It was covered with these white things I first thought might be quartz chips embedded in the stone itself, but they were loosely scattered on its surface. Then I thought maybe they were little mica pieces, or even flakes of salt that circumstances had somehow conspired to glean from evaporating sea water. But upon closer inspection I wondered if they are fish scales. You must forgive me, I am a city girl. Maybe a creature carried a fish up onto the jetty for supper one day, and bit by bit the carcass was ravaged by scavengers and the elements until only this handful of durable proof remains.

When I arrived at 8 I saw that one of the tide pools was blanketed with seaweed and feathers. By the time I left several hours later, the action of the ebbing and flowing ocean had churned that loose gathering of objects into a plump, ratty knot and deposited it on a sandy ledge. It reminded me of the "bundles" that Sas Colby taught at ArtFest a couple years ago, each component rich with meaning, bound together in what one hopes is an appealing artlessness. The ocean is quite an artist. I guess she's been practicing her craft for a long time, and she's learned not to overthink it.