I am down at the Jersey shore for the week. September at the beach is a found jewel. If you like the beach without crowds, this is the time to be here. I drove the twenty minutes from my timeshare outside of Absecon, NJ past the Atlantic City marina casinos and across the channel to Brigantine Beach. I did the same last evening but only had about thirty minutes at the beach before it got dark. During this morning's return I walked from the inlet at Atlantic City toward Brigantine. I took my time and was gone for one hour and a half. During my walk I saw only five people. I did see at least fifteen dolphins. They were all moving with the current heading south toward Atlantic City. They were in several pods, flocks, schools, gaggles, coveys, herds, packs, agglomerations, droves, gatherings, Each and every dolphin was swimming alone without another dolphin within several hundred yards of another. I did not find any briefcases on the beach this morning or last evening.
Just before I turned form walking north to heading back south to my starting point, I took a piece of driftwood to write a message in the sand. The beach at this point in Brigantine is very flat and broad. All houses are at least another quarter mile from where the sand beach turns to dunes or scrub forest. You really get a sense of isolation here at Brigantine. I wrote a message to a very special person. It was only a few sentences but I had some feelings I needed to express. A few minutes after I put down my "pen" a series of waves pushed the wash further into the shore. An inch of sea water encroached on my message. As the advancing water retreated back toward Iberia, the words had become only faint impressions in the drying sand. After another series of waves and wash, it was as if the words had never been there. I turned out toward the ocean again. I imagined my words mingling with those of others, perhaps Hemmingway's old man or Melville's Ahab or even Jonah. Maybe it is the vast oceans retain all our memories, diluting the bad ones and embellishing the good ones with the seasoning of salt and the garnish of time. It was a good walk.
I'll be back there tomorrow.
Atlantic City at night from Brigantine Beach.
Even a lonely horseshoe crad casts a long shadow in the early morning light.
