But Where Are the Angels? Ahhh, THERE they are!

Temperatures in the 70s have given us perfect walking weather. A crowd is gathered on the boardwalk over the dunes to catch a glimpse of the Blue Angels as they practice for this weekend's air show, but the only signs of them are a few jet tracks high in the cirrus clouds.

The water has grown cooler, as evidenced by the surfers all in wetsuits today. A strong north wind kicks up white caps on the ocean and blows salt air into my nose and lungs. That salt air is the reason we moved to the beach, when I was only seven years old. We'd lived a block off the river in town, our yard covered in oak trees dripping with Spanish moss. But eight hospitalizations for asthma over a period of three years convinced my parents that the asthma specialist wasn't kidding when he said, "You can move to the beach, or kiss her goodbye." And, 45 years later, I'm still here...or perhaps more accurately, here I am again. Living in other places has convinced me that I'm a beach girl at heart.

Breathing in the healing salt air, I pass only a few other walkers out on this cool, windy day. The tide is in so there's only a narrow strip of sand on which to walk. But that's enough. Hearty sandpipers forage along the water's edge for food. A flock of pelicans dives for fish, then floats en masse toward the outer edge of the breakers. An osprey dives almost vertically, emerging with a fish in its talons and flying across the dunes to enjoy its lunch.

A container ship heads out to sea, but few other boats are out due to the choppy conditions. I finish my walk and head back up the street to the house. It's only after arriving home that I hear the unmistakable roar of F/A-18s and realize that the Blue Angels have begun today's practice. Ah, how I love that sound of freedom!