I dressed rapidly, unconcerned with colors, this time armed with gloves and a thick winter hat. I started the car with the remote while I heated some tea for my travel mug and wrapped myself tightly in my angora scarf. I felt protected. The short drive to the beach barely let my engine warm. I saw Karen’s flower shop minivan a couple hundred yards ahead of me, turning the corner of the entrance. She must have left right after I texted her back to get here so fast, I thought, as she came from way over the Memorial bridge on the other side of town, from the grand shores of Newburyport. I sped up with anxiety. There was no other traffic on this frigid and dry Sunday afternoon. On my way to the state park beach entrance, I passed by the desolate remains of a once grand American honkytonk; ghostly, vacant skeletons of brick stood to remind us of what once was. Salisbury Beach was formerly a famed vacation spot for the north east. Massachusetts’ northern most gem once offered carnivals. And beyond the forest you can see the ocean… with sunlight from the clearest of blue skies glancing off the tops of the waves in the bay… so that the whole ocean seems to shimmer and sparkle… you begin to move lazily and easily down the path, with the ferns and grasses brushing gently against your legs as you pass… and you just catch the faint smell of salt borne in on the breeze… and become aware of the distant sound of the ocean on the shore… maybe hear seabirds calling faintly, from a long way off… you marvel at the deep sense of calmness and tranquility that sweeps over you, as you move on down and down towards the forest… moving so easily, so effortlessly, you feel almost as though you’re floating on air… and in no time at all you find yourself drifting through the trees, their leaves closing overhead to form a canopy… their branches making an irregular pattern against the clear blue of the sky… It’s pleasantly cool in the forest and the gentle sound of birds singing,.
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