Last night, Daisy and I went to the beach an hour before sunset, and it was not very cloudy after a morning of rain and lightning but there was a hint of smoke tinting the light orange even before sunset. As we neared the water something looked different than usual. Red and yellow and white. Not crabs or clamshells or little jellyfish or starfish but roses and carnations and baby’s breath. She wondered if there had been a wedding earlier, and I considered that there might have been a burial at sea, ashes scattered and tears. So among the flowers celebrating someone’s life or marriage or something we didn’t imagine, we darted in and out of the waves, watched sea gulls and pelicans and a few surfers. And then the sun set on the day and we came home to shower off the sand and salt.
