Red Tide

Went to the beach yesterday morning to take our usual early morning walk. It was still dark when we arrived, although it couldn't have been much earlier than six. So, the days are getting shorter, something that we observe with as much eagerness as we used to scan the gray Atlanta skies for signs of spring.

Yes, our world has been turned on its head; instead of parsing the wind for hints of warmth we do exactly the opposite. We cheer for weather from the north. We praise the low chain-mail clouds that begin to appear in the fall. We pull out our long pants and long sleeved-shirts and put them at the top of our drawers, just in case they might be required. One never knows!

We have a Nor'easter, but we don't have the cold yet. When we stepped out the the car that's the first thing I thought. The second was that someone had mentioned a Red Tide about 50 miles north of our location. But surely that wasn't to blame for the sudden catch in my throat, the stinging eyes, and the itchy skin?

We persevered. We pushed the baby's stroller across the undulating beach which in the darkness always makes me think of the surface of the moon. Luminescent breakers were racing past us to the south, carving out tasteful slices of the sand with each glancing blow they struck. It was pretty, but my god, it felt as if we were being gassed. My eyes were tearing and I was coughing every five seconds. My wife was no better. Only our son, the little hearty robust son, seemed unaffected. He lolled in his stroller, staring vacantly out at the lightening ocean, his little chest rising and falling with the same steady rhythm as the waves.

Eventually we cut back up to the sidewalk and made our way back to the car over the surface streets, but this did not make things much better. We still coughed and sneezed all the way along. When I complained about the Red Tide ruining our beach walk, my wife replied that this is what happens when you fuck with Mother Nature.