Miracle Beach Morning

Miracle beach faces east and photos of its’ sunrises lured me to visit early. The anticipated sunrise colours did not arrive though, as the day was overcast with a mist verging on drizzle. The moisture falling would not melt me and in fact would probably be great for my dry, prairie province skin so I was soaking it up, as well as the company of the radio on the drive from town to the beach.  

Before reaching the beach I was so distracted, I stopped to take in the novelty of the trees. I was familiar with trees. Having lived in Alberta’s forests much of my life had not prepared me for these beauties, though. The evergreens are different here on the Islands. With furrowed trunks reaching dizzying heights, they had branches that stretched and reached with gnarled green fingers, as if to tickle the sky. Their deciduous brethren had the spring swell of leaf buds sponging the rain drops in, and the lush coastal growth of moss made patterns on their trunks; to top that off, ferns were growing in the moss. The abundance of species in this forest was filling my sense of sight and I hadn’t even made it out of my car, let alone reached the viewpoints!

Parking at the public beach, I gathered my umbrella and bag, doubting the umbrella would be opened, but being the good Girl Guide I once was, I was prepared, as their motto dictates, and brought it anyway. 

The chipped cedar carpet trail to the beach was short and the vista opened wide. In the distance, clouds hung low, pleasantly blending the shapes of Islands and mainland peaks. From the haziness of the distant view, I refocused on a middle space, and was happy to see a crane or heron fishing in the tide. Seeing one of these is surely good luck I thought, as I watched it catch and swallow a fish. Gulls of various sizes and voices screeched somewhat melodically to each other as they foraged along the beach. I made a mental note to myself to get a bird book, then thought, inner Girl Guide be damned, maybe I won’t! Maybe I’ll just savour the moment and leave the looking up of things to others, I decided, in my new found surge of freedom.  

Strolling past the high tide markers of strewn logs, seaweeds and parts of what I think may have once been a reddish jellyfish, I made my way through the sand and rocks to the waters edge. 

Here the focus shifted from the mid distance to the very near, as I scooped out a hollow in the pebble filled water and dumped into it, my bag of goodies I’d brought from the car, to be washed in the Pacific. The crystals and favourite rocks collected over past seasons, had adorned several homes, and now had the travel dust washed from their many facets. Making up a new tradition for myself, I gave them a swirl in the cold water and thought a prayer that they help me feel grounded in my newly chosen location. With quickly cooling fingers I gathered them into their cloth bag to be brought back to decorate a new home, first trading a pink quartz that seemed to want to stay, for a shiny orange and yellow new comer. I wondered where it would like to perch in my modest space.  

I sauntered back, feeling content. More sights to see and roads to explore but for now, today’s mission had been accomplished.