Sea Bee was probably most excited to travel to the Seattle area, as it was one of her Grandma’s favorite places. The ghost of her is with me as I cross the Puget Sound to Whidbey Island.

The ferry zips across the smooth Puget Sound, and minutes later I’m exiting my vehicle onto the island. I’ve got a few hours until I can check into my place for the long weekend, so I find a wooded area where I start exploring.

I find happiness being lost in the wooded areas of the island, discovering weather beaten homes and free mailbox libraries. Sea Bee would have hated this unstructured wandering. She is moving into a new place anyway. I text her to see how it is going, but I think I struck a sensitive nerve since she didn’t come up here with me. She responds in curt but simple replies. I mistake her answers for the possibility of a renewed friendship.

Behind a beach side town is a road that leads to Useless Beach. A name that aptly fits my current mood. A lone seal pops his head up above the water to take a look at me. We stare at each other for a spell, then the sound of a boat’s engine causes my furry friend to dive under the water.

I walk along the shoreline, admiring the patterns of washed up logs and the strange patterns of the tree line that has been shape shifted by the wind.

The words of the book Einsteins Dreams rattle around my brain. I think about love and loss, and how both subjects are as useless to me as the name of the beach upon which I walk.

“The tragedy of this world is that no one is happy, whether stuck in a time of pain or of joy. The tragedy of this world is that everyone is alone. For a life in the past cannot be shared with the present. Each person who gets stuck in time gets stuck alone.” 

“Some say it is best not to go near the center of time. Life is a vessel of sadness, but is noble to live life and without time there is no life. Others disagree. They would rather have an eternity of contentment, even if that eternity were fixed and frozen, like a butterfly mounted in a case.” 

“For it is only habit and memory that dulls the physical passion. Without memory, each night is the first night, each morning is the first morning, each kiss and touch are the first.”

One Reply to “Useless Beach”

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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