Sometimes a prompt inspires me. That was my experience when I read Padraig O Tuama’s prompt– the one that arrives in my email inbox each week. After reading a poem by Jane Mead, O Tuama suggested describing a place you go to. I’m a beach goer–and this week offers low-tide walking beaches timed to fit in after I finish work each day. So instead of taking my daily walk around the neighborhood, I’m heading to the beach each afternoon–my favorite beach–to walk and breathe and appreciate this place not far from where I live.
Today I decided to go with a Haibun–that form that allows for some meandering prose followed by Haiku. And while the beach is always enough, it is such a delight when I come across something special. Today it was a wavy turban snail–one of those hearty sea creatures that thrives in the intertidal zone, a harsh place that is exposed during low tide.
The puzzle of tides keeps me guessing as I walk the shoreline. Familiarity interlaced with mystery, each day brings new treasures to discover. Fall, summers’s sister, opens space to breathe, mixes heat with edges of crispy coolness, feet immersed in the translucent turquoise only the sea can offer. This is my place, ordinarily extraordinary.
Most people see the beach as a playground, a gym, an opportunity to commune with nature, a place to get away from stresses and routines of the work week. Sometimes, though, I notice artists at work.
There are artists who are inspired by the natural beauty of the beach and drag their easels, paints, and canvases to the shore and set up to work en plein air trying to capture what they see in front of them. Today’s artist used the sand as both canvas and paint and a rake as his brush.
When my walk began, he was just getting started and had traced some circles on a large flat spot near where I walked onto the beach. I paused long enough to watch his technique for creating even circles–although I doubt I could replicate his motions. I walked some miles, stopping to watch egrets and other shore birds. I noticed some places where the cliffs have crumbled since my last visit to this beach. I took photos of sand dollars, sea birds, and the piling remnants of a structure that existed on this beach about a hundred years ago.
As I returned back to where I began, I noticed the completed art raked into the sand. As the mom of an artist, I’m fascinated by artists’ processes. I see the compulsion to create, the need to express, and how artists find their own tools of choice. When I see the scale of a piece like this in the sand, I have so many questions!
Is the work pre-planned? Does the size relate to the size of the rake? The size of the artist? Are the measurements a felt sense that the artist intuitively knows as the pole end of the rake traces circles and then the rake is turned to brush in the texture?
What is it about temporary art that is so question-invoking? I’ve seen other sand artists who place their art strategically where they can stand above it and photograph their work. Did the artist take a photo before he left his art for beachgoers to admire?
I did notice others like me taking the time to photograph this piece of temporary art, admiring its scale and shape. And there is something spectacular about art with the Pacific Ocean as its backdrop.
What found art have you come across? What surprised you? What wonderings did you have?
I’m not particularly lucky. When I insert coins in a slot machine, the bells don’t ring and money doesn’t come out. When I play lotto (definitely not regularly), my numbers do not come up. When I find a scratcher in my Christmas stocking, there’s no prize that appears to cash in. My name doesn’t get pulled for raffle prizes and I can’t even imagine how badly I would fare on a TV reality game like Deal of No Deal Island!
In life, I count my lucky stars (where did I pull that phrase from?). My family is mostly healthy–as am I. I am in a happy long-term relationship. My children are independent and making their way in the world. I love my work and my life.
2025 has been a sea star year for me. I count myself lucky every time I see one. I started the year by coming across a beautiful specimen in the tide pool on New Year’s Day–and wrote about how lucky that felt–a hopeful talisman for the year! Rather than choosing one little word to guide the year, sea stars are giving me direction, hope, and energy. I’ve had a number of other sea star sightings this year. Each one brings that same surge of euphoria and feeling of luck.
As I walked the beach this afternoon (a perfect way to end the work week), my husband and I were commenting that we hadn’t seen any tide pool critters lately. We aren’t the people who wade in and turn over rocks, stirring up the tide pool in search of aquatic life. We look, as patiently as possible, to see creatures in their undisturbed place.
And then, a bright pop of orange caught my eye! It was a sea star. Just a small one, about the size of a quarter. Just when I moved in closer to take a photo, the water surged, covering my shoes and soaking my socks. Oh well, I thought. I still felt so lucky to start the weekend with the dopamine spike of seeing and enjoying the sea star in its natural habitat!
Today I am counting my lucky sea stars!
What makes you feel lucky? Or are you one of those naturally lucky people?
“What is it that you feel you have the need to have 13 ways of looking at?” That was the question posed by Poetry Unbound’s Padraig O’Tuama in a recent post. A question that got me thinking this morning…and also had me rereading Wallace Stevens’ Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird. My mind went to the beach–a place I spend lots of time for lots of different reasons.
Thirteen Ways of Knowing the Beach
I
I match my breath with the ins and outs of the waves. Salty water molecules swirl around me, seasoning my skin. I fall into perfect sinus rhythm.
II
Seagulls shout. Bossy voices command attention as they probe the shore for handouts and scout out their next heist. Don’t turn your back on the sea or the seagull.
III
Curled toes, deep in the wet and squishy sand. Ankle deep, knee deep, splash! Cool or downright cold. Goosebumps form and squeals of childhood echo. A time machine.
IV
Sun’s out, skin’s out. Memories of baby oil and sunburn mix with realities of skin damage, SPF, and UV index. Trickster sun makes its mark even when hiding behind the clouds.
V
Wind whips and whirls sending sand in sinuous swirls. Waves in white caps wash, breaking barriers, reclaiming all within reach.
VI
Cliffs crumble uncovering geologic stories in layer upon layer, shells on mountain tops where lands rose and sea retreated. History in sediment, conglomerate, sandstone until time, pressure, and heat works its metamorphic magic. Change is constant.
VII
Ospreys hunt, eagle of the sea. Fishing claws grabbing dinner from the deep, no poles or lines. Transported by talons for treetop dining. A creature of sea and sky.
VIII
Squadrons of pelicans in perfect Vs oversee hoards of beachgoers. Gliding on gusts, flapping in formation, surfing the swells, their bellies nearly touching the waves when they rise. Pause and dive. Pouch first approach to prey retrieval. Dramatic drops for seaside lunch.
IX
Artists with rakes trace circles, designs larger than life with perfect symmetry, perfect Pi. Fleeting beauty etched in the sand, hangs in the gallery of your mind’s eye.
X
Tide pools hold secret worlds that live in the in-between. Sometimes completely covered, other times exposed. Life teems under the kelp, sea grass, algae. Sea stars creep on tube-feet, nudibranchs with psychedelic seventies colors strike a pose, pudgy squirting sea cucumbers move only at the sea’s whim. Hermit crabs seek new homes, dwellings abandoned by their former residents.
XI
Snowy egrets with their bright yellow socks stomp the pools at low tide. Lunch counter is open. Neck with an S-curve, stretched out or curled in, dancers in fluid motion.
XII
Beach combing, treasure hunting, shore sweeping. Colored glass roughed and smoothed by the sea, bits and pieces of green, white, amber, sometimes even blue. Sea diamonds. Picking up plastics, multiplying by mitosis, never ending source of damage, destruction. Pollution of our precious life source.
XIII
My playground, location of endless possibility. I walk on water, I walk on clouds. My ears fill with the soothing sounds of whispering waves. I can taste the salt on my lips and feel the release as stress runs down my shoulders and swims out to sea. My heart matches the rhythm of my breath, the rhythm of the sea.
After a rainy week, the weekend was a burst of sunshine! While the temps are still cool, the weather was glorious. There is just something about sunshine that brightens up my mood.
As is typical, we planned our weekend walks around the low tide so we have an ample walking beach. The tides were not particularly low this weekend, and because of the storms earlier in the week, the surf was still in a turmoil.
Teenagers in our area see the appearance of sunshine as an invitation to practice for summer. They arrive at the beach in their bikinis and trunks, play games on the shore, (that smashball game is still quite popular–you know, the one where a group surrounds a mini trampoline like thing, hitting the ball onto it trying to get the next person to miss), and even plunging into the chilly Pacific Ocean. (The water temperature has been hovering around 57 degrees lately…brrr!)
In my jeans and jacket with my camera around the neck, I headed out to walk a few miles and take some photos. I did shed my jacket mid-walk, enjoying the warm sun and cool sea breeze as I opened up to photo possibilities. The challenge at this point is that I have taken probably thousands of photos at the beach. I photograph the surf, the sky, the people, the birds, any sea life, sea shells, rocks–the list goes on. So it’s hard to find something new for the subject of my photo. So instead, I look for a new angle, different lighting…even a new story to tell myself.
I’ve noticed the pelican overhead the last couple of days. They seem to be practicing flying in formation, perfecting their Vs as they glide along the coastline. Today there were also some shorebirds hanging out in groups, searching for snacks as they chased the foam along the edge of the shore. I watched some young girls also chasing the foam…and now and then they would eye the birds and lunge toward them, making them fly up in a group and then settle further along the shore.
And I got lucky enough to move in with my camera just as one of the birds took a moment to strike a pose for me. And voila! A jaunty little bird portrait was the result. I love the tilt of the neck, almost looking over its shoulder at me.
Today as I walked the beach I was struck once again by the fragility of our planet. I noticed the crumbling cliffs pouring onto the sand below, those same cliffs where the amtrak and coaster trains run daily. The cliffs that support multimillion dollar homes in danger of sliding into the ocean. The cliffs that have been whittled away by wind and water, by weather, by building, by human life. Yes, erosion is a natural phenomenon, but there is more to it than that.
My mind wandered from the damage to poetry. The way poetry can offer healing by pushing words into the world, letting us examine our thinking, play with ideas, connect with the earth, the wind, the water, each other.
My students wrote their own 6 words for the environment a week ago and then created a poster to share their words and their thinking with others. The words of this first grader continue to resonate with me.
I think she’s right. It’s time to change ourselves so we can help each other and help the earth. Which led me to a 100-word rant for my poetry today.
I don’t think it’s a coincidence that poetry and earth share the month of April as their time of attention. We need poetry to understand our planet, to appreciate our planet, to save the planet from our reckless disregard for its limits. As we spin on this planet we call home, let’s consider the harm that comes from the use and abuse philosophy that has become so prevalent. It’s time for solving. More leaning in than lashing out. Instead of global clashing and teeth gnashing it’s time for change. For ourselves, our community, our nation, our world. It’s our moment.
After a week of parent-teacher conferences and too many meetings (you can get a feel for it here), I was ready for a low-key weekend. I started my morning by sleeping in. There is simply nothing like waking up, realizing I don’t need to get up, and then turning over, snuggling back under the covers and sleeping for another hour.
Staying in my PJs, I headed downstairs where my husband made a delicious french toast breakfast that we enjoyed together while we chatted over coffee and made a plan for the day. After reading a few chapters of my I-don’t-have-to-think-too-hard escapist crime novel, I made my way back up the stairs to shower and dress.
First on our list of things to do today was a low-tide walk on the beach. Even with our somewhat slow motion pace, we made it to the beach with plenty of beach for walking. It was sunny, not too chilly (moving into the low 60’s), with just a slight sea breeze. The blues were hypnotic. The combination of sea and sky are the perfect antidote to work overload.
We decided after our walk to head over to another local beach to check on the status of the sand restoration project there. (More about our local sand restoration projects here.) We had seen the giant boat heading to the river mouth to load up on sand when we were walking.
Moonlight beach (my favorite walking beach when it is not covered in mounds of rocks–hence the sand restoration project) is a popular spot–both for locals and tourists. It sports a good sized parking lot with free parking, somewhat nice bathrooms (as beaches go), a playground, beach volleyball courts, and more. I had heard that things were a mess in the area–and sure enough, our usual access route was redirected to a detour as a section of the road was closed. We made our way through the detour and found a parking place in a nearby neighborhood and headed to the beach.
We chuckled as we watched a gaggle of teenaged girls tucked in a corner between a closed lifeguard tower and a construction fence laying shoulder to shoulder sunbathing to the “music” of heavy construction equipment. A family had established an area for a birthday party tucked up next to green construction fencing blocking all view of the beach. Apparently, construction or not, the beach is a desirable destination!
We watched large equipment crawl over mounds of sand, push piles of rocks, reestablishing a sandy beach. I’m looking forward to the beach that will be in a few weeks time.
After running a few errands, we headed home. To be honest, my motivation has not yet returned. All I really want to do is to pick up that escapist crime novel and lose myself in a story… Which is my plan once I post today’s slice. I’m hopeful that tomorrow will bring a bit more energy and inspiration.
Sand is both wonderful and annoying, but trust me when I say our beaches are better with it. Over the last decades, sand has been disappearing from our local beaches, shrinking the actual size of the beach that is not covered with water, eroding and undermining the structural integrity of the cliffs, and making our sandy beaches into tempermental rocky beaches that can only be accessed at low tide.
Over the years there have been some attempts to add sand to the beaches, bringing in big hoses to squirt large amounts of sand in very specific areas of local beaches. That effort seemed to fall in the category of too little to do much good. But recently a huge sand restoration project began on one of our local beaches. Orchestrated by the US Army Corps of Engineers, more than 700,000 cubic yards of sand was dredged from the lagoon, transported by boat, and then deposited via an enormous metal pipeline onto the beach–and according to a recent news article, doubled the size of the beach (for the price of $16 million).
Parts of beach have been closed over the last couple of months while enormous construction equipment pushed sand around, seemingly fighting against wave energy and the tides. The extra large boat became a familiar sight anchored off the coastline, and sand began to pile up.
A week ago we noticed that most of the beach was open, so we walked the new and improved beach. But the sand was deep and the angle of the beach was severe. Walking felt both hard and painful! How long would it take for the beach to get back to feeling walkable?
But on Friday when we walked again, the beach had changed again. Big trucks were flattening parts of the beach and spreading the sand further. The area near the water was much less steep and much more walkable.
Today as we walked again, I could really noticed how much larger the beach was. In early January, even at low tide we walked relatively close to the crumbling cliffs (with multi-million dollar homes perched precariously at the top). Today we walked a good distance from the cliffs and the water seems like it is not reaching them, even at high tide.
The most dramatic illustration for me was noticing the permanent lifeguard tower that I often photograph. Here’s a photo I took shortly before the sand restoration project began. Notice the rocks below the land the tower is perched on. Those rocks were always covered by water at high tide and were meant to protect the tower.
Today I realized that the water is quite far…and that the sand fully covers those rocks. I had to climb up quite a distance of sand to get where I could take this photo.
This sand restoration is supposed to last for a decade and be repeated then if funds are available. They just started this project at another local beach last week…and boy does that beach need it! We’ve been avoiding that beach lately because it is so rocky!
So, even though the sand can be annoying, clinging to every part of my body and depositing itself in my house despite my most careful efforts to mitigate it, I love it on the beach. The beach is definitely changed and I’m sure that not everybody is happy about that…but here’s hoping it helps with the severe erosion problems and gives us a bit more walking beach when the tides are not super low.
Whenever the tide and my schedule cooperate, I head to the beach for my daily walk. I knew the tide would be low enough today if I got out of my classroom as soon as I plugged the kids’ iPad in and cleaned up for the day. The ocean cooperated and there was plenty of beach for walking and the sun was shining, creating perfect conditions for breathing out the work week and breathing in the weekend.
There was a lot going on today. We noticed the bathing suit photoshoot right away, beautiful young models posed as assistants held light reflectors and photographers shot both still photos and video. Every kind of ball play was going on: volleyballs bouncing high, soccer balls rolling and spinning along the ground, and footballs spiraling in the air. Surfers paddled out, swimmers in bathing suits squealed as they played in the cold water, while beach combers like my husband picked up trash washing up on the shoreline. Seagulls chatted among themselves while other shorebirds poked the sand for an afternoon snack.
There’s been lots of sand work going on so I wasn’t surprised to see some pretty substantial tire tracks and big equipment in the distance.
But I was surprised when I noticed the lifeguard truck with lights flashing followed by the big truck carefully balancing the lifeguard tower. Wait–it’s not summer yet! They’re already putting the towers back out on the beach? Then my husband reminded me: spring breaks are beginning. And even though we are not a tropical location, and in my opinion the weather will not be bathing suit warm, we find that we are a spring break location.
There is never a dull moment on a San Diego beach. And that was certainly true this afternoon. I’m a little worried that spring breaks will mean more crowds–and I certainly know it will mean more skin! I might be walking in jeans and a puffer jacket and look across the sand and see someone in a bikini heading down to take a dip in the (too cold) water. But it does make me happy that there are lots of ways for people to enjoy the beach–it is truly a treasure in our community.
Thinking Through My Lens 