The heat is on. Whatever moisture was left in the ground from our last little rain storm can now be forgotten, as the weather has turned to quick bake us for a couple of days. I went and parked myself on the beach yesterday with my over-sized straw hat and folding beach chair. I felt the need to continue work on the suntan I had started several weeks ago in the desert of southern California. A million other locals had the same idea as me. We wait for these extra nice warm ones to come through, as if they are a set of waves, then break out all the beach paraphernalia, and stake out our little tanning spots up and down the coast.
The lady parked next to me on the sand had a chair, umbrella, and fair-sized ice chest. She sat under the umbrella doing some sort of paperwork. I could see stacks of paper, cell phone, and tablet PC surrounding her as she worked away, as if in an office, only an office with no walls and with pounding surf at her elbow. Looking the other direction, I could see an extended sea of umbrellas poked in random array for a mile to the south, as if they were some sort of shore birds that had become fixed in the sand from the last high tide.
I read some from my Kindle. Lately, my reading attention has dwindled. I think I might have crossed a couple of wires or short-circuited some part of my brain that allowed me to focus. Much as I love reading, too many unturned electronic pages sit idle and unappreciated within this precious little electronic box. Maybe the love will return. I opened the Kindle anyhow, out of pure habit, because that is what I have trained myself to do when I come to the edge of the sea. My cursor wandered through the collections I have cobbled together, and I settled on a volume of poetry by ee cummings. Soon I was reading one of his poems that has most successfully tickled my fancy over the years. I can’t look at a mud puddle in the spring without thinking of this poem:
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
whistles far and wee
and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it’s
when the world is puddle-wonderful
old balloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing
from hop-scotch and jump-rope and