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Brenna, the beachcomber
Mar. 30th, 2005 05:46 pm
Erosion on the Lake Erie beach near Oxley, Ontario
Marian likes long, aimless walks. At Lake Fletcher she will disappear for an hour or two and wander for miles along the forest road. I should say kilometres, but it doesn't have the same ring.
"She walked for miles."
She inherits her love of walking from me.
Brenna's journeys are more purposeful. The beachcomber. This, too, is inherited from me. At Poplar Bluff she might disappear all afternoon, but I always know where to find her. I'll go to the beach, look up and down, and see her in the distance, crouching on the sand, collecting beach glass, fish bones and fossils. Marian walks necessarily alone. But if I approach Brenna she'll come running with things to show me, demanding that I follow her to see things she cannot bring.
Saturday she showed me tide pools under rocks at the head of the beach. From wet sand the sun drew a transparent mist, sliding like light away from the lake and vanishing.
A beach displays the ferocious whims of nature: sand dunes laid down by years of waves and wind, then a single storm gouges into them with a deep bite. Everywhere, the clever footprints of raccoons reveal spring forays.
( Mental health notes )
