A stiff onshore wind off the ocean. Seaweed piles strewn across the sand, a late February offering from capricious Mother Nature. Old warm jackets sustain us as we set off into blustery wind, knowing it will be at our backs for the return trip. We are three generations, abandoning a warm room and welcoming fire to brave West Beach in winter.
Scattered shells litter the sand beneath, an occasional treasure of sea glass finds its way into our pockets. The youngest among us braves the cold and removes her shoes, marching into an icy ocean. Her father shrugs, understanding the impulse and knowing it will be a quick venture.
Now we disturb a flock of sea ducks who chatter their disapproval and head skyward. And on a Saturday morning in early March we own the fierceness of this solitary beach.