to dance in the sand like a child.
She had walked a long way before she stopped to watch the last rim of gold on the horizon. The sky had turned to mauve and a thick bank of fog was moving in toward the shore. She stood watching it for an interminable time, then walked slowly up toward the dunes where she made a seat for herself amid the tall grass and pulled her knees up under her chin as she looked out to sea. After a moment she rested her head on one knee and closed her eyes, listening to the sea and feeling a rush of joy in her soul.
“It’s perfect, isn’t it?”
Deanna jumped at the unexpected voice at her side. She opened her eyes to see a tall, dark-haired man standing beside her. For a moment she was frightened, but his smile was so kind that it was impossible to feel threatened while in the warm embrace of those eyes. They were a deep blue-green like the sea. He had the build of a man who might have played football in college. His hair was as dark as Deanna’s and ruffled by the wind. He was looking down at her intently.
“I like it best at this time of day,” he said.
“So do I.” She found it easy to answer him and was surprised that it didn’t annoy her when he sat down beside her. “I thought I was alone on the beach.” She glanced shyly into his face, and he smiled.
“You probably were. I came up behind you. I’m sorry if I startled you.” He looked at her again with that same open smile. “My house is just behind here.” He nodded over his shoulder to an area shrouded by wind-contorted trees. “I always come out here in the evenings. And tonight I just got in from a trip. I haven’t been here in three weeks. I always realize then how much I love it, how much I need to walk on this beach and look at that.” He looked straight ahead, out to sea.
“Do you live here all year ’round?” Deanna found herself conversing with him as though he were an old friend, but he had that way about him, it was impossible to be ill at ease.
“No, I come down on weekends whenever I can. And you?”
“I haven’t been here in a long time. I came down with a friend.”
“Staying in town?”
She nodded, and then remembering, looked at her watch. “That reminds me, I have to get back. I got carried away by my walk on the beach.” It was already nine-thirty and the last light of day had fled as they talked. She stood and looked down at him, smiling. “You’re lucky to have this anytime you like.”
He nodded in answer, but he wasn’t really listening, he was looking intensely at her face, and for the first time since she’d noticed him next to her, Deanna felt an odd rush of warmth in her cheeks and was aware of her embarrassment when he spoke.
“Do you know, you looked like a painting by Andrew Wyeth, sitting there in the wind? I thought that when I first saw you sitting on the dune. Are you familiar with his work?” He had a look of great concentration in his eyes, as though measuring her face and the thickness of her hair. But she was already smiling.
“I know his work very well.” It had been her passion when she was a child, before she had discovered that Impressionism was much more her style. “I used to know every piece he had done.”
“Every piece?” The sea-colored eyes were suddenly teasing but still warm.
“I thought so.”
“Do you know the one of the woman on the beach?” She thought for a moment and shook her head. “Would you like to see it?” He stood next to her, looking like a bright-eyed, much-excited boy, only the manly spread of his shoulders and the few strands of gray in his hair belied the look in his eyes. “Would you?”
“I—I really have to get back. But, thank you….” She trailed off in embarrassment. He didn’t seem to be the kind of man one ought to be afraid of, but nevertheless he was only a stranger who had appeared on a beach. It struck her then that she was really a little bit mad to be talking to him at all, standing there alone in the dark.
She had walked a long way before she stopped to watch the last rim of gold on the horizon. The sky had turned to mauve and a thick bank of fog was moving in toward the shore. She stood watching it for an interminable time, then walked slowly up toward the dunes where she made a seat for herself amid the tall grass and pulled her knees up under her chin as she looked out to sea. After a moment she rested her head on one knee and closed her eyes, listening to the sea and feeling a rush of joy in her soul.
“It’s perfect, isn’t it?”
Deanna jumped at the unexpected voice at her side. She opened her eyes to see a tall, dark-haired man standing beside her. For a moment she was frightened, but his smile was so kind that it was impossible to feel threatened while in the warm embrace of those eyes. They were a deep blue-green like the sea. He had the build of a man who might have played football in college. His hair was as dark as Deanna’s and ruffled by the wind. He was looking down at her intently.
“I like it best at this time of day,” he said.
“So do I.” She found it easy to answer him and was surprised that it didn’t annoy her when he sat down beside her. “I thought I was alone on the beach.” She glanced shyly into his face, and he smiled.
“You probably were. I came up behind you. I’m sorry if I startled you.” He looked at her again with that same open smile. “My house is just behind here.” He nodded over his shoulder to an area shrouded by wind-contorted trees. “I always come out here in the evenings. And tonight I just got in from a trip. I haven’t been here in three weeks. I always realize then how much I love it, how much I need to walk on this beach and look at that.” He looked straight ahead, out to sea.
“Do you live here all year ’round?” Deanna found herself conversing with him as though he were an old friend, but he had that way about him, it was impossible to be ill at ease.
“No, I come down on weekends whenever I can. And you?”
“I haven’t been here in a long time. I came down with a friend.”
“Staying in town?”
She nodded, and then remembering, looked at her watch. “That reminds me, I have to get back. I got carried away by my walk on the beach.” It was already nine-thirty and the last light of day had fled as they talked. She stood and looked down at him, smiling. “You’re lucky to have this anytime you like.”
He nodded in answer, but he wasn’t really listening, he was looking intensely at her face, and for the first time since she’d noticed him next to her, Deanna felt an odd rush of warmth in her cheeks and was aware of her embarrassment when he spoke.
“Do you know, you looked like a painting by Andrew Wyeth, sitting there in the wind? I thought that when I first saw you sitting on the dune. Are you familiar with his work?” He had a look of great concentration in his eyes, as though measuring her face and the thickness of her hair. But she was already smiling.
“I know his work very well.” It had been her passion when she was a child, before she had discovered that Impressionism was much more her style. “I used to know every piece he had done.”
“Every piece?” The sea-colored eyes were suddenly teasing but still warm.
“I thought so.”
“Do you know the one of the woman on the beach?” She thought for a moment and shook her head. “Would you like to see it?” He stood next to her, looking like a bright-eyed, much-excited boy, only the manly spread of his shoulders and the few strands of gray in his hair belied the look in his eyes. “Would you?”
“I—I really have to get back. But, thank you….” She trailed off in embarrassment. He didn’t seem to be the kind of man one ought to be afraid of, but nevertheless he was only a stranger who had appeared on a beach. It struck her then that she was really a little bit mad to be talking to him at all, standing there alone in the dark.
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