I got up, walked along rhe edge of the beach as the animal gracefully glided along in knee deep water.
There's no point to this story.
For the cost of sitting by the edge of the bay, doing, well, nothing, I got to see an osprey carry a live, decent sized bluefish, no doubt bringing it back to its eyrie to feed its young.
The bird hesitated as it reached the edge of the sea, banked towards us for a few yards, then arced back towards the land. We have seen the same bird several times follow the same path.
There's no moral to share.
For the cost of sitting by the edge of the bay, doing, well, nothing, I got to see a ghost crab peer out over its hole, slip back down again to kick out more sand, then mosey on out again, as though admiring his fancy digs.
Another crab ambled too close, and the first one scuttled quickly towards it, chasing it away, then stalked back into his burrow, just its eyes peering out like two tiny lollipops.
There's nothing to sell here.
A day of sitting still hardly counts as a day of education, of course, and without a lifetime of learning, I might not get the same joy from watching critters go about just going about.
Stillness matters still, despite the human noise that dominates our culture on this patch of the Earth.
How many children spend how many hours learning less under fluorescent lights than I learn doing nothing? Don't just stand there--do nothing.
I think I now know what's fundamentally wrong with an iPad replacing a piece of paper. We're confusing sleekness with sensuousness. The iPad is visually stunning as a work of human artifice, it's professional looking, it's sleek. Most of the work has already been done. A piece of paper's joy lies in its texture, its smell, its possibilities. I know my beach stories are connected to the iPad/paper disconnect, but I don't (yet) know how.
I'm going back to the beach to ponder that some more...