That Doleful Beach

I took my dog Linda for her nightly escape, from the drudgery of the apartment, to the largely deserted beach. It’s just a few minutes to get there and when I take off her lead she takes off like a mad hare, digging holes here, sniffing there and eating smelly fish, if she finds any that have been washed up on the shoreline. She runs off in all directions, seemingly at the speed of light and only comes back after I whistle for her, when I’ve lost sight of her.

The avenue leading from our home towards the mediterranean is the exact middle of our walk. First we go left for a mile, then turn back and walk two miles and finally one mile to get back to the middle point. All in all this makes a four mile walk for me, but for Linda you can easily quadruple that, what with all the running back and forth that she does. At the end of this she’s as happy as a pig in shit and twice as dirty.

But how I envy her that loping mile-eating stride of hers, that long-legged effortless canter that she can keep up for ever or so it would seem. It is a veritable joy to see her run like the wind. There is something about the scent of the sea that speaks to free spirits like Linda and me aswell, I might add. I find the sound of the waves breaking on the beach to be particularly soothing to my sometimes troubled mind. When I am walking there, my thoughts float away on the breeze that comes in from the far horizon, bringing with it fantasies of spell-binding beauty.

A word to the wise, if ever you suffer from writer’s block, go for a stroll on the nearest beach and this will set the juices flowing. Lyrical winds blow through me and lift me up to wondrous places, whenever I am there, with my companion, with my friend Linda.