not so long ago, i spent

days-off

at the santa monica beach

adjacent to los angeles, i had my routine

my yellow 

and white striped beach towel

my tote with book, water, granola bar, sunscreen

my little self-contained world

i wasn't alone

there were a great many people 

doing what i was doing

many families, many beautiful people wearing very little

many swimmers, many surfers, many sounds

gulls and music

from a hundred phones, from wind

and surf and conversation and laughter

all along the beach 

and boardwalk body-builders, volley-ballers

acrobats, skate-boarders, showman and show-offs

artisans of every kind

musicians busking boardwalk and pier

a carnival atmosphere, cinematic

not unusual

to see filming at the beach or nearby, models or actors

as well as photoshoots of wedding parties and etc

not unusual 

to see the unhoused, not unusual to see the unusual

i was one of the throng, one of the many

i read my book

ate my apple, ate my granola bar, cooled off in the ocean

reapplied sunscreen, focused on the book, focused 

on the wine-dark sea

i was not oblivious to the sights, nor incurious

rather, i was weary of feeling separate from the gaiety

of solitude

so the day and days past, inevitably

the celestial clockwork raised the pacific 

to engulf the sun

the air cooling rapidly, the crowd

almost in unison

rising

bundling belongings, finding their way home

i lingered to enjoy the quietude

but had no immunity to the chill myself