Life on the Edge

The ocean yesterday was relatively quiet. The exposed sand meant an easy walk, once again, to the middle of the beach where I put on my flippers and head into the surf. Last week, storm waves were breaking to the top of the inclined stones as seen in the photo. Although the walking was a little more tricky, the clattering and chattering of the stones as they rolled and tumbled together under the waves brought back a memory of several years ago when a similar sound was heard. I wrote about it in my published monograph, Earth Links, in 1997. Let me share it again.

The Stones I stopped and listened to the stones the other morning. There's a section of beach where tidal currents and wave action have washed away the sand exposing a pile of rounded stones about the size of grapefruit. These aren't spread out level, but incline to the deteriorating top edge of a sand dune. Normally, in my early morning run I would skirt this section, running a bit below it; moving gingerly yet quickly to the other side where the beach once again becomes flat and sandy. However, during a higher king tide, a chance wave hit just as I was in the middle, carrying itself right to the top and causing me to scamper upward to keep my sneakers dry. When the wave rolled in, it had the sound of most waves as they break foaming on the shore. But when it returned as a smooth backwash, it rolled and knocked together all the stones beneath it. Such a wondrous sound. In squatted rapture I waited for several more of the larger waves to repeat this Balinese like clacking of instruments. "Peal me again, again, again", I heard the stones repeatedly ask of the water. It was timeless this sound, as though the beach stones and waves had been rehearsing together for centuries. For a moment the necklace shape of the beach became Earth's rosary and the beads were pressed just once for me. In that moment, I felt holy.