Halloween Walk

We took baby to the beach at sundown tonight, doing our best to maximize the last day before mom goes back to work. Though an unusually warm Halloween, the parking lot at the beach was graced by only a single car – and two hundred seagulls standing in a broad cluster. The sky was cloudless, the beach was just as empty as the parking lot, and though a cool breeze was blowing the moment was pregnant with love of life and family.

Hard-won wisdom guided us toward the seawall (and town) – into the wind. As we walked along the nearly calm sea, baby’s eyes showed that she had a sense of where she was. Though three months old (yesterday), she has made six or eight trips to the beach since she was born (and many inside mom’s belly before that). Indeed, while but a wee fetus baby surfed in her mama on a wave that the two of them were kind enough to share with me. Our daughter was conceived near the sea, carried by the sea (and in the sea), and born near the sea – and the shore looks to hold special meaning for her.

Her smiles showed that she was sharing a moment with us, that we were someplace. As we neared the seawall, the horizon grew deeper and deeper orange with every step; the sky overhead turned a deeper and deeper blue. Though baby seemed warm enough in her pink hooded snuggly, we turned around before making it to the end of the beach.

A ship we’d been following with our eyes had made it from the East Passage near Newport halfway to Pt. Judith. Though a few miles offshore, the white foam at the bow’s waterline was clearly visible. With the wind at our backs, the tranquility of the scene was only greater. Still, it wouldn’t have been hard to grow somber about the disruption to our familial trio that is upon us tomorrow, but we were handed a gift of living in the moment somehow and instead rushed home in time to hand out candy to the neighborhood kids.

I believe it was Jesus who was quoted as saying, “The evil of each day is sufficient unto itself.” No need to grab tomorrow’s, that is.