Hot steamy summer day…not a cloud in the sky; brilliant blue dome of color – a slight breeze floats by on the up beat of a song dancing through the air; off in the distance sailboats lean, lean, lean stretching canvas and rails dip in the salty sea – flashback summer sweat dripping kisses…glorious sight makes my heart race.
Beach scene high tide, scent of coconut oil is like a time chaser – burst of images black and white, Kodachrome edited memories. Families, babies, teens, college kids, Gran and Pop – fill the sandy shoreline with souvenir beach towels and beach chairs; radiant red, seafaring blue and lemon yellow umbrellas adorn the landscape making up an amazing painters pallet. Aroma therapy and visual overload – in this surrounding I am thrilled to be alive!
Strategically placing myself on the fringes – a space between me and the masses. A buffer from all the chatter and one on one contact – my comfort zone just left of everything and nothing – with one foot hanging over the edge; acting as an anchor keeping me from wandering to far out in an endless sea. A beach day to listen to music – drifting away on notes and combinations of words; all stirring emotions and pushing fantasies for later creative use – deep breath in/exhale – blow. Moments of “shear poetry”.
A group of three “t’ween” boys invade my peripheral vision and my solitude. Soft images flurry past, intense energy…carrying plastic beach shovels – with definite intentions. There were no words exchanged, an innate plan was brewing and clearly understood by all participants.
As much as I tried to ignore this group of adolescent males, (they reminded me of boys from my past) it was impossible…I was captivated by the “boys club” dance – and felt privy after so many years being on the outside secretly looking in, never understanding what made them tick and now I had a clear up front view – camouflaging myself behind a pair of sunglasses instead of my naiveté .
Quickly personalities started to pop…the shy one, the leader, the funny boy – these roles seemed set in stone, not interchangeable. Each knew their character and played it uncomfortably well. Pigeon holed for a moment in time.
I sat back, shades on, ear-buds in and observed with delight!
The boys started to dig a hole in the sand, within 30 minutes it was clearly going to be a very large hole. Occasionally a group of “t’ ween” girls would slowly walk past; seemingly ignoring the boys…a little flip of their hair, arms linked and giggles…boys reacting, doing boy things – they jumped in the 4′ deep hole, threw sand at each other, swore and laughed and dug faster as if they were just injected with high levels of testosterone.
The girls circled around several times, swishing their feet into the sand, hips swaying overly exaggerated this way and that as they walked by. Flirtatious glances exchanged, occasional eye contact and then the uncontrollable bursts of blushing red covered cheeks were a dead give away. A vision of pure innocent seduction; beach boys from long ago…summer in the city. Motown playing and dancing on the sidewalks – sweet delicious memories.
Off in the distance songs from the concession stand began to play summer songs, the hit list…Heatwave, Under The Boardwalk, Girl From Ipanema, In The Summer Time…on and on drum beat, finger snapping melodies swept me away finally into a deep sleep…
© 2014 TrilbyYates