My idea was to sketch the scene in front of me, the no-cloud-blue-blue-sky and various shades of much darker blue sea, the roll of waves, another line, and the line on the sand that’s as far as the waves roll in, the wet gleam of

what’s left behind on tide tamped smooth red sand and beyond that more sand, dry and loose, a single black rock among a scattering of tiny white specks that are broken shells.

But then P. arrives and before that frisbee players threaten the safety of those not watching and P. has watermelon and the wind and the sound of surf, people going in for a splash or just strolling… distractions. And P. and the watermelon and a seagull watching us and, really, I can’t draw a seascape worth a hill of beans anyway,  so this instead.

If you look closely you can see it all. Except not the sweet baby behind me or the man drying off in front of me and his wife still in the water with her sunglasses or the woman reading… or the girl doing handstands, landing in perfect  bridge pose.

(PEI, last week)

♦

Other (not always) wordless friends:

Cheryl Andrews
Allison Howard
Barbara Lambert
Allyson Latta
Elizabeth Yeoman