After a long week of rain and gloom in an office devoid of co-workers, the skies parted this morning, full of hope and the promise of a high temps in the 70s. Stephen suggested a visit to Plum Island, about an hour away on the north shore.We saw a few brave souls swimming there, but most visitors enjoyed the beach as we did: by reading and napping on a narrow strip of sun-warmed sand. Stephen tried to even out his farmer's tan. I wore SPF 55.
The waves were noisy enough to drown out all other noises, so it felt secluded and calm there despite the men fishing a few yards away, and the children wading beyond them. The combination of the roaring waves and the bleaching sun and the astringent breeze always makes me feel scrubbed clean after a day like this--exfoliated in soul as well as body, and exhausted, and ready for ice cream.
The marshy interior of the beach was cordoned off for plover and tern nesting season, which began on April 1. We skirted the nesting grounds on our way back to the car, and saw dozens of fat little birds running back and forth between the matted reeds, so I guess the conservation program is working. I love watching those tiny, earnest shore birds dash about, like pint-sized teapots balancing on toothpicks. They're so darn cute. Just look at this thing and tell me if you don't agree.
