A Day at the Beach

What could be more boring than getting to the beach early in the morning on a cloudless day in late July? The sun only a dozen degrees above the Atlantic. The waves clapping at the shore; seagulls complaining no potato chips left on a blanket to steal yet.

I’m practically alone, just a fisherman in the not too far distance casting a quizzical glance at his surf pole as it jerks with intent. I set up my umbrella and chair, my bag of snacks, book and towel beside me. After slathering on some 75 spf lotion, I settle in, sunglasses nestled on my zinced nose. and I listen to the waves lapping, the gulls yapping, and the fisherman laughing as he pulls his leviathan from the (not so deep) depths.

And I’m aware of others arriving and settling up their own little fiefdoms: mostly families with young children at first and some older folks. The lifeguards drag out their tall chairs and plant pennants designating swimming areas. Later teenage girls lay down their blankets and bronzed bodies. College boys scamper onto the sand like puppies, and begin passing a football around or tackling eachother in the saltwater. There are fishing boats, searching for schools, scattered on the horizon.

I scan a novel thriller for a bit and my eyelids grow heavy, It is a plot I’ve read a thousand times. And I’m happy to see it again. I’m so, so bored, but happily so.