The old man with the jeans and white tee shirt searches for buried treasure. He looks as weathered as the cliffs that dot the coastline. He swings his arm back and forth, waving a broom, listening for metal.
An oversized teenager yells to her parents from the edge of the water. Momma! Momma! Look! Seriously, look! Come on! The mom creeps closer and closer to the sixty-five degree water, her feet slowly shuffling forward to the last inch of a wave about to retreat.
A boy in board shorts chases pigeons. His shorts depict the American flag; red and white stripes on the legs, blue stars in the rear.
Pigeons aimlessly walk around the sand, bobbing their heads up and down with authority. They work in pairs and occasionally peck into the sand. The purple on their backs glisten in the sunlight. They seem comfortable yet tentative around humans, as if they haven’t quite figured out the difference between a chasing little kid and a bread generous adult.
A teenager catches a wave on his boogie board and miraculously floats on it nearly one hundred feet to the shore. He screams and hollers the entire ride and his smile is as epic and free spirited as his ride along the white washed wave.
Two sailboats in the distance. Four girls scream with delight just before the wave crashes.
The man in search of treasure disappears over the small rise without his shovel ever touching the ground. Just another day, he thinks to himself.
A couple celebrates ten years of marriage by sitting in rusty beach chairs where the sand and rocks meet one another. They type and write, grieving together, taking the sun in one ray at a time. This is nice, she says to him.