Rainbows of shattered glass glisten in the muted sunlight. Cigarette butts populate the miniature hills like the scarred remains of so many burnt and crooked trees after a forest fire. Fast food remnants and straggly green vegetation faintly perfume the air. Youth with no hope cluster in the shade while three or four lone creatures meet for the first time overhead.
The beach is long and narrow. Long not as much for its length, but for the drastic difference from its width. No more than forty feet of gravel-laced sand stand before the eternally stoic sea at the widest point. At the leftmost end while gazing seaward the sand erupts into unhealthy looking heaps of boulders that even the low cliff rising further down the shore seems to have abandoned. From there civilization spreads like an arm embracing the beach before changing its mind to sweep away out of sight. Few souls claim haven on this darker stretch of sand shaded by several stout trees straining towards the ocean.
The water stands in stark contrast to the cavern-esque end of the beach. Beyond the sand and cloaked by the gently lapping waves lies a wall of a sadly unfinished sort. It is here that Mother Nature and strong-armed children have deposited a loose weave of head-sized stones and an array of grey gravel. These poor bits of granite sit shapeless and unpolished by such a gentle current. Ugly though the rocks are, algae and other green matter is their constant companion.
Over the wall grows a greener grass. In the shallow water of a low tide is a flurry of activity. Not a step can be taken without running the risk of burying the scurrying mass of a hermit crab the size of a twenty-five cent coin into the sand underfoot. So unlike the shore sand is this that it is a marvel the two can coexist on the same section of coastline. The grain is finer and undulates in the regular plowed field pattern created by the tides. With even the slightest disturbance a billowing cloud of silt rises toward the surface only to be drawn slowly away by softly rolling swells.
As the distance from the left end of the beach increases, so does the slope from the dry sand of high tide to the low water line of low tide. By center beach the decline reaches its most severe and once again levels to a graceful continuity from dry sand to deep water. The change of contour seems to divide the beach into two distinct ends.
The rightmost extreme of the beach matches its opposing counterpart in that it is rocky, but no further comparison exists. This spindly side of the beach is home to fortifying rocks left by machine to guard the sandy strip from the horrors of erosion. It is here that the breaking waves show what power and strength they kindly refrain from using against the rest of the beach. Though rare in occurrence and often just a sampling of the possible production, waves crash upon the rocks and send beads of water flying like the seeds of a wish-laden dandelion.
Rising ten feet vertically behind the rocks is a monolith of a cement wall the same tan-grey color as the sand. Crowned by chain link, the wall slinks around a corner and disappears from view to the right. In the opposite direction the barrier gradually decreases in size until it is only four or five feet by center beach and even lower by the time it ends near the left tendril of sand. The royal fence stops long before, and the wide head of the wall poses unadorned.
The wall separates the quiet of the ocean from the bustle of town life. A path parallel to the wall leads to a dingy building near the tree line that houses a handful of life guards and restrooms. Beyond the path is a wide swatch of grass and parking lot, a sidewalk, and a street by the name of Dane that seems always to be under construction.
Only one small bridge exists connecting the two worlds. Here the wall juts perpendicular to itself before returning parallel for a short time. Sheltered in this nook is a ramp down from grass to sand. With only one entrance the beach is often a quiet place throughout the day. A smattering of families bond and play as one or two solitary guests recline in a beach chair with a book carefully propped on one knee. By the dark of night the atmosphere changes. The wall becomes shelter for underage drinking and the small parking lot fills with teens experimenting with far more than they should. The sand cools, the water turns murky and reflects the lights from a distant factory with a ghostly aura. No families dare tread on such forbidden territory, yet the solitary walker always seems to find solace here.
With the return of the brilliant sun comes first sight of the mess from the night before. Despite the disturbance, the water sparkles like an endless pool of crystals, the sand warms, and the families reclaim a patch of sand.
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