There is a trail above this beach. Native plants edge the sides, wild radish, mustard yellow rocket, golden rattlesnake grass, buckwheats and curly docks and lots and lots of poison oak. Lizards and rabbits scurry across the trail from the northern hillside to the brush above the sands but I stay on the path and enjoy the view from the soft dusty center.
There are benches along the trail, most of them donated as memorials to previous trail pilgrims. The first few times I saw a shoe box sized plastic container under one of the benches, I thought someone must have forgotten it. It wasn't mine. I didn't even think of opening it.
The next time I saw it, I thought perhaps someone must trustingly leave their art materials on location so they can have them at will. Then one day I saw a couple looking at two journals and at their feet was the open box full of pens and crayons and colored pencils.
Children feel free to stop and write or draw as well as older visitors.
The path and the water, the rocks and the birds, the sky- the air, the ambient quiet of the waves...this is already a place of refuge and rest and restoration...and yet someone thought to make benches too and then...someone left the means to draw a little picture or write a word or two... and leave it to share.
I hope there are many such places made in the world...corners gentled for reflection and recollection and communication for anyone passing along the way.
No, I haven't written anything in it yet...but I might.
What might you write in a little book by sea?
Here's to places of rest and refuge... Jeannette
