A walk to the sea

I turned left and walked to the ocean this afternoon. This is what I saw:

It was so beautiful -- rugged and lonely and really just perfect. I glanced to the right of that driftwood and noticed, quite suddenly, that two people were lying on the beach, and I peered a bit closer, looking much like this:

and realized that they were -- well --

ahem.

Yes I said yes I will, Yes.

The Pacific

I grew up on the sandy beaches of the east coast and admit that the dunes, the sea oats, the balmy water and clean, soft sand are beautiful.

But I prefer the Pacific now.

I took Sophie to see The Homeopath in Santa Monica this afternoon and then drove west a couple of miles, parked at our favorite beach in Ocean Park and walked down to the ocean. The sky was a brilliant blue and the surf was loud, the waves high and the water cold.

I like it that way.

A man walked into the ocean in a tiny bikini bottom that was printed with the American flag. Only in LA, a woman I knew that I had run into remarked. Yeah, I was just in South Carolina at the beach and you wouldn't have seen that, I added.


Or maybe you would but it would have been the Confederate flag.

Afterward, we sat at a little cafe on the beach and watched the people roll and skate and run and walk by. We ate a vegetable quesadilla until it got too cold.

Yes, you heard me right. Too cold for bare shoulders and legs -- about 65 degrees or so as the sun set and the water sparkled.