The Place with No Shoes

The juxtaposition of wide fields of deep mooring sand against crisp firm flats of sand is always a surprise to my bare feet. That beach section right off the boardwalk holds me and slows me in the deeps and valleys. It makes my legs ache and my breath quicken. I trudge onward. It’s the deep white powder that leads to the water. There is an oasis on the horizon. At last, my toes hit the crunchy edge. Those firm parts along the ocean made by the tide and large swells of waves. That sure firm surface is made for strolling and enjoying. If I try, I can gently tread across the surface without disturbing the film of hard sand on top. Careful not to crack the skin on the beach’s pudding, I traverse with hardly a footprint. Heel toe, heel toe, light and easy and careful not to disturb these good times by the water. And then a majestic pelican glides by and dips down awkward but intent and splashing reminds me why I am here. I know I have arrived at bliss and lose all abandon. I dance across the firm sand wildly marking and marring the surface leaving prints and laughter. Holding back not a grain in enjoying the moment of making it through the valleys and into the surf. I have arrived fully at freedom and frolic in the place with no shoes.

-KT Patrick Bothwell