Pelicans in the mists

We stepped outside to face a blizzard of whirling white this morning--not snow and ice but mist and surf. Early-morning fog and cloud cover created a monochromatic beach scene in shades of gray and white, with squadrons of pelicans materializing from the north and swishing just above the waves before disappearing due south.

First we walked on dry sand and then, lured by low waves gently rolling in, we took off our sandals and stepped gingerly into the cold Atlantic. Before long we'd stripped off our fleece pullovers and rolled up our pants and walked far south along the shingle.

We watched colors return slowly to the world as the sun burned off all the fog. I looked back over the distance we'd walked and couldn't see our starting place or our pile of pullovers and sandals. The tide was rising, pushing us ever inland. 

"How far up the shore did you stack those sandals and things?" I asked. 

"Far enough," he said. "I hope."

But hope was not enough; soon he was jogging through the surf back to our starting point. I took the easy way back, wading through the shallow water and watching sandpipers chase the bubbly white retreating waves. Don't look back, little bird! It's gaining on you!