fresh and new

On the weekend, I stood on a rocky, reedy shore, and gazed across the mud flats of Boundary Bay. The tide was out and it was mud flats all the way to Crescent Beach and Blackie Spit. The sand stretched on and on.
A salt marsh separates the path from the sandy shore or I would have had my toes in the cool mud in a flash.
It's just as well I guess.
Here and there are patches of sunken sand, pulled down by some underground current; a sort of beach version of Black Holes.
Instead, we ambled along, admiring the bleached gray driftwood at winter's high tide line.
Ducks and songbirds chuckled and buzzed and pinged.
Butterflies zig zagged, white against the green.
The sun was overhead, but a breeze, the kind that is almost always the saving grace of a summer day at the seashore, blew til I felt fresh and new.