It was a warm morning on the shores where land meets water in the island town of Saint Simon. We began our stroll on the beach that was glistening like millions of diamonds from the sun, reflecting the crushed shells scattered on its shore. Birds were gliding above us in the pinkish hue of the morning sky. Dogs were chasing them, unaware that they were not able to fly themselves. Their ears were flapping in the breeze. They were relishing the wind in their faces and the freedom of open space to roam. The sun was rising, and the colors of the new day were beginning their rainbow display to greet another day. All around us, people were running, walking, strolling, and relaxing on the beach.
We ventured down the shore and discovered a unique pattern where the water had retreated. In its retreat, it deposited shells that were homes to little creatures. They would have been undetectable had they not ventured a glimpse of their surroundings by lifting up their shell homes, attracting our attention. Only then did we notice the intricate trail leading to where the shell had come to rest and was a telltale sign there was life within. Upon further inspection, we discovered more trails and followed their paths only to find more creatures had washed ashore and were grouped like a family who had ridden out the tide to rest for a bit before the water rose again to take them back out to sea.
It was getting later, and we contemplated turning back but decided to go just a bit further. That short bit revealed a magnificent lighthouse standing on the coast as a beacon. Its white tower rose to a point circled with rails at the top designed to protect those that ventured to climb to see the view of the world from the vantage point of the majestic tower.
Near the lighthouse, there was a pier filled with people fishing. There was a rhythm of them baiting their hooks, casting their line into the water, and the patient wait for a twitch of the line indicating a sneaky fish was on the other end eating the bait.
The game was on. Would the fish manage to devour the bait without being caught? If caught, would they be spared and allowed to go back to the water? Alas, it was time for us to move on.
We made our way up to a small oceanside park and was greeted by a man setting out colorful paintings. A few steps away, antiques were being carefully placed, and I noticed a group of Beatrix Potter books. Much to my surprise, they had appeared to have been a promotion from a gas station back when gas stations were competing for business. We also came upon a set of Golden Books that had been manufactured in our home town of Racine, Wisconsin. I searched for my favorite childhood books, The Pokey Puppy, and The Adventures of Pooh. They were the first books I read on my own, but truth be told, I had been read them so often that I had them memorized. Reading them aloud became more of a dramatic acting performance than actual reading. After strolling around the park and admiring the Live Oaks covered with Spanish Moss, we gradually made our way back to the shoreline and walked down the stairs to the glistening seashore.
When the walk came to an end, we returned back to our cozy hotel to rest before returning back to the sleepy town where the lighthouse lived.
When we arrived back, the water had risen, and the glistening sand was gone. The creatures had been washed back to sea. The stairs to the shore were immersed as if swallowed by the ocean. I began to wonder, was it all a dream?