Got up before 6 this morning, and met my parents up the coast for a beach walk with the doggies on Popham Beach. It's chilly again -- not as cold as December can sometimes be, but not the mildness that made late November feel so eerie. There were, on the beach, the prints of someone's bare feet, not yet washed out by the tide. It was hard for me to imagine someone walking on that cold sand late last night or before we got there this morning, but they had.
The dogs romped ahead of us, chasing one another and jumping sideways into each other, then peeling away up into the dunes or to stop and sniff some washed up lobster trap. Cody likes the water, but Lila prances only up to the edge, then pulls back onto higher ground.
When we turned the corner the wind had made tiny dunes, and in the low slanting morning light you could see the ripple patterns in the dunes, small blue and yellow curves, undisturbed by tracks. The dunes felt softer underfoot than the more densely packed sand, and as we walked the texture of the ground below us alternated in some pattern I couldn't make out.
On the way back our faces were in the wind, and my cheeks warmed up in the car on the way back, while I thought about the eggs and toast and hot coffee I would be ordering soon.