After the swim

When the afternoon inclined towards its ending, I had done a lot of chores and paper tearing. But still no photo at all. Now and then it was drizzling. No prospect for some form of sunset. So what can you do? Take your backpack and bike up to the dunes and have a look from there. The beach at the Zandmotor was laying over there, bare, deserted. Somebody walking the dogs. The tide was falling: on the wet sand plains nowhere birds to see. The sea was grey green, rippling under a light Western breeze. How can you photograph here? What?

As I walked down over the beach towards the surf, I felt the cold wet sand under my feet. It had rained a couple of times. Near the laguna I saw a lady of age throwing balls in the water to get her elder dogs bring them back. She spoke to all her dogs in a loud and very spontaneous way, as if she was playing a match with her children. Except me and my Lumix nobody else on the beach. And then I saw what you can do: just make that “thing” being thrown into the water, follow it with doggish eagerness, frollick yourself through the surf, pick that imaginary bone, swim/run back to the beach and wiggle-waggle-shake the salty water out of your furry tail. Wait and see.

And so I did on this grey wet afternoon on a deserted beach: playing one cheerful doggies run into the surf, splashing and diving a couple of times, rushing out again and rub that water of as quickly as possible. Because it had started to rain seriously. And then, as I wanted to leave I saw these few birds, probably gulls, standing at the surfline, motionless, waiting. Waiting for what? For No Thing? For a miracle fish jumping out of the tumbling wave, hop in your beak? We don’t know. But by accident I walked in their direction and made this photo.

This evening my dear school time friend Jenny V passed by. A real surprise! And a very intense and humorous story of her recent life-adventures sparkled from her lips. I remember the days she inspired me to write poetry, draw sketches, to paint the walls of the school gym into Montmartre facades, hoping for a dance with her. She didn’t know I was in love with her - as were a lot of of my boy friends in those school days. We passed a vivacious evening and I told her that I am happy to publish my humble Blip-contributions in a poietic way feeling that same old fire burning in my heart.