Maryland, the western shore…

Maryland, the western shore…

my blog this week will more likely be a travel log sort of thing (as if it has some usual tract), if I happen to be inspired to write, I will, much like my annual Cape May trip I like to find some places a bit out of the way and hopefully distill the experience for you as I perceive it…

so today, being my first official day of vacation, I made sure not to sleep the day away, which I love to do as work has been exhausting lately, but I managed to drag myself out of bed at the early hour of 10am (early for me… ok?), from there I basically I walked the beach, listening to the surf talking behind my back, trying to take it all in, getting closer to that grey heron I see every year, closer than I have ever been, he made a complaining squawk as he flew away, I guess 10 feet is his dancing space, dully noted,  I started at the jetty on the south beach, as it is known here, the sun was strong, I learned my lesson last time out, and not wanting a screaming neck I broke out my coppertone, careful not forget my satellite dish ears, too often I forget these outliers and they wind up like strips of bacon, and not half as tasty,  maybe I enjoy the monotony, the symphony of sameness  that is waves, sure, this is a bay, so it is not quite the ocean, but you can not see past the horizon either way, I ran across a total of four people, one couple, two individuals, mostly everyone here are happy warriors, happy to live in such a magical place, and almost everyone has dogs, so I am sold, but one guy today, not a smile, a curmudgeon hiding behind his wilford brimley mustache with a puppy no less who wanted to pounce all over me, which would have bothered me none, I think it was some sort of spaniel/retriever, I could not tell, and since sourpuss would not even acknowledge my hello I will never know, I walked farther than I recall, this is low tide and provides greater range, so I go as far as I can, I come upon familiar mental triggers, I remember the landscape well, the willow tree where I found my first mako, various boat houses I saw destroyed by storms in the past, places on the cliffs with caged stone like you see on some highways to try and keep the bay erosion at bay, for now, walking down the line, my crocs in hand, like a lost traveler on some lost beach, but this is the northeast, this seems more like a scene in the caribbean, but that is just it… this is the northeast I know, and these parts have been inhabited for long now, I mind my time by the tide, getting back will not be as easy when the tide comes in, and I am not in my swimming trunks or swimming mood, and certainly not with all the jellies in the water today, I should have started a study on the amount of jellyfish I saw, pulsing hearts, tiny discs, brilliant flowers inside glass, some red and brown like fall colors, I try to avoid them but must admit I stepped on a couple of them, this is a wild place, there is no places to sit, after a while I realize I need to sit, the lactic acid has built up, it seems like I have been walking for days, lost in the wilderness but strict north to south, listening to that surf, an easy surf today, clear water, I could see the blue crabs scurry away from my hulking frame, so I wandered like a fish in his water, until I could get no further, and turned back, wondering if I had the energy to do so…  and the realization I had walked off my stress, I am indeed decompressed, I breathe in as deeply as I can, to feel the emptiness, the lack of having a burden for at least this moment, to let go of everything, take off my sweaty hat, sweep my brow, sit on a log, look out at those tiny ripple waves, and breathe, and breathe again, regardless of my failures, or my accomplishments, I am here right now, soak it all in… and so I will… for now…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s