It's early enough that the
Texas air isn't yet straining my lungs. Walking along the beach my
gaze is forced down by the wide brim of my straw hat. Occasionally I
lift my hand to the back of my head,
holding the hat down in the wind
I glance up to survey the flat stretch of sand that unfolds in front
of me.
Cars dot the beach as Garth Brooks drifts over the top of the
breaking waves.
I reach a place where pylons push back the cars and
the beach opens up.
Kicking through the surf I
glance to the right and notice carnations, red, green, white, it
crosses my mind to pick through the debris field, plucking up the
intact flowers to create a ragged bouquet, but I pass without
stopping and continue to make my way toward the designated marker in
the distance.
On this morning my
companions have chosen to stay back in the condo that we're sharing
and lounge over steaming cups of coffee rather than join me. At first
I was disappointed; conversation speeds up a long walk exponentially
for this extrovert, but this morning I find peace in my solitude.
My feet glide through the
foamy water when I notice, just out of reach of the lapping waves,
what appears to be a brain. My head cocks to the right as I near the
object and I see that it's actually a head of green cauliflower.
Pulling my gaze away from the cruciferous veggie too late I step down
hard on a jagged shell, pain radiates through my foot. Instinctually
I lift the foot, grab it with my hands and turn it over to assess
the damage. Blood trickles out from the wound. I lower the injured
foot into the water. Balancing, I rinse the cut and once more raise
my foot to examine it. It's not too deep, but I decide I better turn
around and make my way back to the condo to clean it up. The salt
water stings the open wound and I think about how quickly things can
change. What started as a peaceful walk has turned into a minor
moment for a triage nurse.
Nearing the dead fish that
acts as the marker for where I left my shoes I begin to favor the
uninjured foot. I pick my way across the jetty rocks that stand
between me and the condo gate, sweat trickles down into my eyes, the
world blurs. At the gate I strain against the rusted hinges. I hobble
to the elevator that will take me to the fourth floor. I can feel the
sand grinding into the wound and I relax into the discomfort. Waiting
for my lift a thought arises: it's always possible to find the positive,
it's just a matter of perspective.
