Cobble Beach
It's a beach with no name and no sign indicating a beach. A rock wall--the only indication that you're at the right spot to begin the downward walk.
Half way down and I see the cobbles-- rounded rocks formed by the crashing of rocks against one another. Some are large and watermelon shaped, many fit into the palm of a hand. The large ones can't be moved and the smaller cobbles, with some imagination, may turn into vertical sculptures.
At first walking on cobbles seems precarious. There's no flat spot and my sneakers seek a steady place to stand.
In a few minutes I'm used to the rounded rocks and walking on this uneven landscape seems natural.
Isn't that how it is with many things? What's risky, uneven , and foreign often becomes comfortable with time.
Half way down and I see the cobbles-- rounded rocks formed by the crashing of rocks against one another. Some are large and watermelon shaped, many fit into the palm of a hand. The large ones can't be moved and the smaller cobbles, with some imagination, may turn into vertical sculptures.
At first walking on cobbles seems precarious. There's no flat spot and my sneakers seek a steady place to stand.
In a few minutes I'm used to the rounded rocks and walking on this uneven landscape seems natural.
Isn't that how it is with many things? What's risky, uneven , and foreign often becomes comfortable with time.
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