I left the house at 6:45 today and it is mild with overcast skies.

I get to the parking lot at the Strand and it looks like there is a little bump on the water but overall things are pretty calm here.

I head down the stairs and it’s pretty much exactly low tide by the time I get to the sand - an 0.8 at 7:12.

Water still feels warm on the feet. I sure would love a nice sunny swim AND warm water but I’ll take this any day.

Of course I find myself starting to think about the late Fall and how we are going to do the cold all over again. This is just so me. We have a few days of luscious warm water and I’m already fixated on when it is going to be gone. I try my best to steer my thoughts elsewhere and let myself enjoy what I have right now.

I eye the rocks about 75 feet inland of me to spot the ones I use to mark my point of entry into the water. There they are. The drill hole rock.

I walk on in. In this warmer water I’m trying to shuffle my feet to avoid a Sting Ray incident although I have not yet seen any here yet this season (which means nothing). These are much smaller cousins to the Bat Rays further off shore but they are also more treacherous. The Bat Rays look super scary but they are just as docile as they are scary.

I let myself fall forward into a swim and the initial coolness rushes through me. Just seconds later as I am heading west, I feel a patch of much warmer water surround me and from this point onward it is pretty darn nice.

I’m heading south and it is definitely bumpier than yesterday but it is not a fight like Friday.

I’m facing the shore and watching the maintenance truck drive on the beach parallel to me as they collect yesterday’s trash.

The water is not as clear as it has been the last couple days but it is not totally murky either. It is mostly a sort of navy blue tone and as I pass over the rocks, the blue fades into black.

As I turn my head upwards to catch my next breath, I can see ever so briefly the underside of the water’s surface. It is like molten crystal with bubbles interspersed throughout.

One moment it is as if I am in a boundless blue-black void with an iridescent thin layer on top and completely empty except for me. Then every few minutes I see some stray bits of seaweed in the distance. Sometimes it is free roaming strands of sea grass. Sometimes it is a clump of sea grass attached to a small chuck of organic soil-like material. Sometimes it is a long solitary garland like rope. Then every now and then I see thick stalks of kelp rising and dancing in the current that are still attached to the floor.

If I raise my head and gaze above the surface, it is like a parallel universe - kind of on the dreary side today. The ocean surface is a sort of dirty grey and crumbly as the breeze blows over the water. Skies are also grey with varying shades of light and dark. I see a single boat just outside from where I am that does not appear to be going anywhere at the moment.

It’s very peaceful and I empty myself into every breath and stroke.

What is it I am trying to gain in this life? Sometimes I really do not know other than the fact that I know I don’t have it. I reach and I reach and I reach and it’s just water that comes back to me. Maybe that is enough.

I wonder if I let go of the desire to gain, maybe that thing that I don’t know what it is but I feel as though I can’t live without will just float my way and I’ll be shocked to find what it actually is. Maybe if I stop scanning the surface and just put my head down and get lost in the bottom, some creature will emerge and I’ll hold on to it’s fins and, as Dr. Seuss might say, Oh the places we will go.

I eventually reach my new northern landmark. A new buoy seems to have replaced the Green Monster, Big Bob. Of course the Green Monster can never truly be replaced but Big Bob is a pretty gregarious fella with a smile drawn onto his back side.

As I view the shore again over my final 10 minutes before I finish, it looks as though the beach walker population has grown considerably here since I started.

I wrap things up and come to shore and head to the stairs.

I notice how the asphalt ramp is covered with quite a bit of sand almost all the way to the top. Where does all of this sand come from? Is it really what falls off of the feet and sand toys of the previous day’s beach goers? Maybe it is carried in from the wind. Probably the former because I don’t notice this much in the Winter when the crowds go away.

Wherever it comes from I like it. It makes this asphalt which is super rough and even sharp in spots much softer and easier on the feet. Come early this week the maintenance guys will blow it all back down with their leaf blowers. Too bad.