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Conversation on a San Francisco Beach

Conversation on a San Francisco Beach

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Published by Rose
when I was in high school, I made myself enter a "Jr Miss" pageant in order to get out of my comfort zone and work on my shyness issues. I couldn't sing like most of the other girls so, for the talent thing, I read this little story I had written.
when I was in high school, I made myself enter a "Jr Miss" pageant in order to get out of my comfort zone and work on my shyness issues. I couldn't sing like most of the other girls so, for the talent thing, I read this little story I had written.

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Published by: Rose on Apr 25, 2012
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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05/29/2013

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Conversation on a San Francisco Beach
The sun reflected off the ocean with a brilliance that made me squint and my half closed eyes could barely see the golden flecks of light shimmering across the gentle waves. I sat down in the sand, stilldamp in the early morning coolness.Somewhere far away I could see a man fishing and a girl joggingwith her dog. In my peaceful solitude I listened to the voice of thebeach – the distant, mournful cry of the seagull, the rhythmic risingand falling of the waves, and the muted splashy, gooshy sound of the girl and the dog running close to the water, where the wet sand glistened like a waxed floor.Thoughts wandered through my mind much like the waves, risingslowly, then relaxing, disappearing forever as they lose themselves inthe vast sparkling ocean.
 
I was thinking about how every person's life is like a book. Eachchapter is a complete experience within itself. And just a tiny threadof knowledge, wisdom, and maturity gained from each experience iscarried on from one chapter to the next, unifying and leading thebook toward its final purpose.Other characters drift into focus, fulfill their purpose, and disappear,leaving nothing but a memory and their contribution to the tinythread.It was on this same beach, two years ago, where I met that youngman. I watched the wind gently tossing his long red hair into hisface as he stared thoughtfully toward the ocean and ate peanutsfrom a cellophane bag.I felt compelled to speak to him. Somehow I knew he had somecontribution to make toward the purpose of my book. He said hedidn't believe in anything that couldn't be proven. Life, death,psychic phenomenon, religion – everything, he told me, can beexplained by science. If it can't be proven, it can be explained away.I hadn't believed him when he had said his explanations might beover my head. But as I listened, I gradually realized I really couldnot understand some of the details of his philosophies. Was it possiblethere was a whole world of knowledge and ideas that, in all mysixteen years of life, I had never even known existed? Could it be

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Rose added this note
. . . somewhere far away . . .
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Rose added this note
Happy March!
thomzok liked this
Rose liked this
Derric Saville added this note
"Other characters drift into focus, fulfill their purpose, and disappear,leaving nothing but a memory and their contribution to the tiny thread." I love this line. I often wonder when I meet someone am I meeting them to be a "thread" in their life, or are they a "thread" in mine. Thank you for posting this piece I enjoyed it. Derric.
Rose liked this
David1949 added this note
A wonderful story and very well written. I have always enjoyed everything you have written. Got to get caught up on your writings.
Rose added this note
When I get around to making a collection of my personal favorites of my stories, this one will be in it!

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