On the beach that morning a couple walked through the water, a group of young people splayed out across the blankets where they had spent the night, and a handful of fishermen were baiting hooks and casting. The sun would come up in about 10 minutes. I scanned the horizon for the beautiful morning scene to capture with my camera. Soon that bright orange ball of fire would float slowing higher in the sky casting its warm light across the sea foam and the glistening sand. Sand.
In the sand were the most amazing patterns that reminded me of herringbone cloth and patterned fabrics from the early 20th century.
For the next hour or so I wandered the beach just looking for patterns in the sand. Triangles and diamonds played out across the wet sand. No doubt somebody could tell me how these patters are formed, but I don’t need to know. Just watching them shift and change in subtle ways was enough for me.
I lost myself that morning in those patterns. The sunrise was, I am sure, lovely. The national bird sanctuary? No doubt filled with birds. At some point the young people picked up their stuff and headed home, as did the fishermen with tales of the big one that got away. I left with images, photographic and mental, of the sand.