In Love – In Liebe

Being in love takes no effort. It happens to us like an ocean wave licking our bejeweled toes, caressing our naked ankles. It crashes over our heads, submerging us unabashedly and all-consuming. Effortless pleasure, a song that carries us through dark times or nights. It is possible.

 

A little boy staring at an older woman walking with a rhythmic stride, her bare feet assuredly meeting the compounded sand. Her long fuchsia-color skirt waves in the breeze, her wide brimmed straw shades her face. To the 3-year-old she looks like an apparition: vivid pinkish-purple-red intensity on a milky blue-green day at the beach. Naked arms hanging from tiny shoulders, ring shaped mouth wide open, he can’t stop looking. Surprise – and he drinks it in. The object of the boy’s unrestrained gawking turns around, still walking, laughs, smiles, waves. She – let’s call her: our lady friend – is surprised, too. By the youngster’s unfiltered and honest curiosity. The brief encounter sculpts the air, sets the tone, and stretches time. Effortlessly.

A damp nose rubbing at her calves, a little wet dog rushes by from behind, then turns around, his trenched body ambling back to his owner. The man with feet in the water, hands holding a fishing rod. Our lady friend is pleasantly startled by the animal’s playful touch, spontaneously she calls out: “Hello, little one, what’s up?” Moving backwards, never losing her rhythm, propelled by today’s unusually warm Pacific Ocean breeze. Openhearted.

 

Western Sandpipers, it’s their day! These white shore birds, with light brown markings on the back, are busily foraging at the edge of the receding tide. With accelerating spurts, sudden stops and turns, they glide over the flat surface, never bumping into each other. Small bird legs and feet are moving fast, a blur of motion. The glistening slick surface, where the waves come and go, is mirroring the fluffy feather balls. Gracefully dashing about and picking the best morsels, chirping all the while. And here is a flock with several sandpipers hopping softly up and down as they advance. How come? Generally, sandpipers are smooth sailors keeping a low center of gravity, no bopping. The center moves, the legs underneath obey, facilitating any change in direction or speed. Well, the one-legged ones are just as adorable, perhaps not as quick, nevertheless integrated with their two-legged friends. They fly just as easy and as high. Their hearts stretch wide. All is possible.

Time to sit down, have lunch with rye bread, two perfectly soft-boiled eggs, and a bright orange carrot. All is in harmony. Ebb and flow. Empty stretch of beach would not be the right description, empty mostly of humans. But abundant with beetles and birds. Sea weed and Sea shells. Sand dollars and pebbles. Feathers and foot prints by all kind of creatures.

With their shoulders touching, a woman and a man, their back to the sinking sun. The older man takes a still of their faces from below. Both are giggling, glancing shyly at our lady friend with the flowing pink silk skirt gliding by. She brightly beams at them, nodding. Then abruptly she stops. Like a bell ringing with pure overtones: they are clearly in love with each other. She offers: “Do you want me to take a picture of you together?” They are surprised, but the younger of them holds out her phone, smiling sweetly: “Why not, sure.” Our lady friend with straw hat asks the couple to turn their back to the ocean. Cresting waves behind them, she takes a close-up of their radiant faces. Then a second wider frame, the woman cocks her head as they lean closely. She hands the camera back and strides on. As fast as she appeared in their periphery, our lady friend is gone. Leaving the two love birds to their revelry. Old and middle aged. She sees herself in the two lovers. Past and present graze her skin, awakening misty memories, soft feeling tones, now echoing through her limbs and movement. She, too, is in love. With life, with ocean, with people, with sky and sandpipers, with….

 

On her last stretch, now in strolling mode, our lady friend is overtaken by a young woman who calls out without stopping: “I like your colors!” She carries a big folded-up umbrella. Our lady friend with her fuchsia skirt chuckles in agreement: “Yes.” Her T-shirt is bright pink, imprinted with orange tulip shapes. She watches the young woman’s legs now ahead of her, pink flip flops flapping on feet. “My colors a little bit like your sandals...“ her voice rings out in delayed response. Today she is so in love with movement, with daring pink-purple-fuchsia, with unknown insects, translucent sea animals, strangers, early evening sun, and surprises. With call and response, hers and the worlds. This warm day at the beach, filled with encounters, like a bracelet of marvelous pearls. At times, all alone. At times, touched by curiosity, smiles. Always deeply connected, embedded in mutual recognition.

As a fitting good-bye for our lady friend, a flock of sandpipers rushes, surges, condenses, and – takes off for flight. Spectacular white snowflakes against the now dark blue-green ocean. The swarm curves their path in the air, changes direction, suddenly a cloud of black snowflakes. Still sandpipers. What a wonder. Light, the magician here. Always available. Awe – stitched into the fabric.

She remembers the little boy from earlier in the afternoon, he too was in love. Just like the one-legged and two-legged sandpipers. Like the man with grey beard and the woman with red halter top, eyes smiling at each other and strangers. Three teenage girls, waist deep in the water, screaming at the top of their lungs with each wave. A man keeps guard on shore while their partner is splashing in the icy water, swimming and diving undeterred. Behind a small white tent, a cross legged woman sumptuously feeds their friend, lying on her back receiving puffed crackers directly to her lips and tongue. What an endless string of wonders, continuously massaging us – speechless. Enveloped in tender rapture. Content. Safe. Geborgen. Belonging. In relation. Medicine.

In love – all is possible – in Liebe

And who are these jewels?