It was a
brilliant Monday morning, hot with no sign of clouds or wind. Normally in April, I am exhausted by the relentless
assault of ocean air, but today seemed to promise a calm and sundrenched rest
on Limantour Beach. Into my large straw
market bag I tossed sunblock and sunglasses, a beach towel, water and a few
snacks, a collection of Chekhov stories, yesterday’s crossword puzzle, and a
couple of pencils.
Shortly
before 11, I joined all of three other cars in the parking area, and on the
beach I spied only eight other people as far as the eye could see in both
directions, one sitting, the others walking.
I headed toward to the Limantour Spit, now closed to protect the young
harbor seals, and eventually settled into a spot hidden in the beach grass,
near a scrawny cypress. How long had it
been since I had spent time on a beach, alone, just sitting?
A ladybug, struggling
to crawl out of a little depression in the sand, caught my eye. He made no progress, sliding back into the
pit each time, eventually tumbling onto his back. I gently scooped my hand under the sand,
hoping to lift him up and free him, but he disappeared and I was distraught. I kept gently scooping sand and spreading it
out, hoping he would emerge. A light
breeze blew over the sand, pixelating it and eventually uncovering the little
bug who again struggled to right himself.
This time I shored him up with a flat stone, and he made it onto all
sixes. The sand blew off of him, and he
flew away.
By 1 pm,
fog had obscured Chimney Rock, and then Drake’s Beach, and I knew it was
heading toward me. The Black Monk read
and the top-left corner of the puzzle completed, I called it a day. Back at the car, as started to fold up my
towel, I discovered on it another ladybug.
I gave the towel a soft shake, and he flew off too.
