On The Boardwalk

Unbelievable...81 degrees and a warm wind, not something we see often on the Oregon Coast. She finds herself walking, computer and camera in hand, and makes her perch there, on the boardwalk where she can watch and listen and record the day.

Sirens in the background, daily it seems, you hear them blaring, chasing this and chasing that. May they find great success at catching it, or putting it out or rushing it to the hospital today.

"Bir' bir'" says the little boy in green billed hat as he strolls by holding his mother's hand. Mother engaged in conversation with father, oblivious to the little bird watcher's interest while the pigeons flap up and away from tiny little feet.

She sits inside a section of the boardwalk called an "interpretive structure" where water ways and the land are etched right into the surface of the floor itself...interesting concept. A group of teens wander by, chasing away the pigeons as they begin tracing the lines with their feet. Upstream, down river, around the bend they go, until her camera focuses on the feet of one and now she says, "you trace the lines with your feet, and I capture your feet with my camera". In an instant,they rush to present their feet, all of them, to the camera, which is what free and unafraid kids do, they engage instantly, they're fun! They stick out their feet and offer them up to be photographed just for the immediate fun of it. They ask, "you like feet?" she says, "I do today, I like a good many things today". And then they wander away, tracing the lines, no need to know why, or what brought her here today, because it doesn't matter. Everyone knows it's the warm wind that blew us in. They all know why they're there.

Then they're gone, and the pigeons return. She has great joy writing what no one may read, and snapping pigeons as they pick away at the wood and suddenly she wonders....what exactly are they picking at anyway, there's nothing there! But pick, pick, pick they do, and they don't mind that she sits and snaps while their little feet trace the lines of the rivers and water ways.

A little family enters and a little girl named Anna chases her pigeons, for now she has begun to feel ownership of the moment and somehow that's part of it. She's snapping, Anna is chasing, and dad says, "don' t chase the birds away, she's taking pictures of them" and she says, "and now I'm taking pictures of Anna who is too cute to ignore" and he laughs.

And the people wander out, and the pigeons wander in, some cooing and strutting and doing their mating dance, while the females just look on, unimpressed, pick, pick picking at the ground.

A man wanders in and stays. He looks, he reads the signs, he stands. He watches the water, content in her silence, watching her watch, sharing this crazy bit of life that was so unplanned, a sort of gift for this day. The man walks, the pigeons scurry, but the warm winds keep blowing.

The group of teens pass by across the street, Anna runs by one last time, her little pink pants, a streak of color in the sunlight speeding to her destination, which could be anywhere because little feet will carry you everywhere and it doesn't matter. She flies, like the flag in the wind, and she squeals and she reminds everyone how it feels to run in the wind with pigtails waving 'goodbye!' behind her.

And now, the tiniest hint of coolness in the air says that it won't be long before she will wonder where the time went, but she will hardly care at all.