I inadvertently went to the beach today.
At first glance, today's bike ride was promising nothing but cool spring, four days into Summer.
Half-way through my ride around the Seawall the sun skipped past the grey with incredible warmth and nearness. I dismounted. (I didn't lock up my helmet, people don't steal helmets)(I did, however, slide my white M.E.C. L.E.D. A.K.A. 'Turtle Light' forward so that the black elastic band was most visible and the LED/plasticy portion was less conspicuous)("crimes of opportunity", you know)
At Third Beach I took my spot on the sand.
Touching, slowly, drawing circles and curves and alleys and birthmarks.
The top layer was dry and inviting,
any deeper, the sand was much darker and wet,
smelling strongly of the sea,
hinting at decay and the brittleness of sea-shells.
I poured the hot, dry sand on my hands, from one hand to the other.
I briefly thought of each body my fingers have ever known and that the sand's superficial heat means so much.
I imagined doing continuous somersaults along the border of sea and sand, well, along the front of Third beach. Actually, it was forward-somersault twist into backward-somersault to log-roll to forward somersault...(forever and forever)(or until I hit the wall)(they would think I was crazy)(am I?)(somersaults aren't crazy)(34 year old somersaults along the sea to sand lapping broder, maybe. maybe crazyish)(well, you didn't do it, so.)(can I even do a somersault anymore?)(do a somersault anymore)
I drew more circles in the sand. I stood up.
I hooked the sand out of my shoe with crooked finger.
I looked at the ten or so other people on the beach and thought, "we're the fortunate one's today" and  "hey, an empty beach on a Saturday"
I walked back to my bike and put on my helmet.
The padding was still cold and wet with my sweat.