Two November days on a familiar beach served to remind me that everything changes, and a beach, perhaps, most of all.
Day One
Tiny animal holes dot the wet sand.

Breathing trail. Photo: Melissa Cooper
The surface of the beach is pretty empty,

Esau the dog in an undisclosed desert country. Photo: Melissa Cooper
except for a few remnants of life. Like this brilliant piece of seaweed.

Who lives below? Photo: Melissa Cooper
Or this lovely mussel shell resting against a twig.

Mussel and twig lie near paw print. Photo: Melissa Cooper
Or this delicate little crab, a few of its legs and much of its color washed away by sun and surf.

Where's the rest of me? Photo: Melissa Cooper
Tire tracks broke the beach into a system of unnecessary trails.

Rutted beach. Photo: Melissa Cooper
and Esau warns of impending danger.

Danger Deep Water Photo: Melissa Cooper
On the way home, a gull looks out over Mecox Bay.
Day Two
The next day, there’s not an air hole to be found. Instead, beach stones lie strewn on the wet sand.

Smooth, rounded, multi-colored touchstones. Photo: Melissa Cooper
Among the stones is a golden egg.

Looking for the golden goose. Photo: Melissa Cooper
Is this the gull that laid the golden egg?

I will never tell. Photo: Melissa Cooper
A peculiar cartilaginous skeleton lies on the sand. Reader, any guesses as to identity?

What am I? Or what was I? Photo: Melissa Cooper
A solitary swimmer braves the icy waters,

Brrr. Photo: Melissa Cooper
and Esau leaves footprints wherever he goes.

Esau was here. Photo: Melissa Cooper
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