On an unusually sunny and warm afternoon in the mid-50s F, Juana and I make our way down to New Haven harbor to kill some time. The mostly rocky shoreline has few people and action except for an elderly man feeding the birds with great bursts of bread crumbs.
It is low tide, and a walkable shoreline reveals itself below the rocks. We make our way down and are surprised at the surplus of clam, oyster, mussel and all other types of shells that have washed up along the shore. We open our jackets and nostrils to take in the refreshing salty breezes that we so much miss at our home to the north of us.
Scratching along the shoreline as we are wont to do, we find a lot of sea glass that has been buffeted by the water and sand. With the advent of plastic bottles and jars, it is increasingly difficult to find such seashore treasures but here the pickings are plentiful and we are judicious in our harvests.
Even though there is an interstate highways behind us, we listen for the calling of the seagulls, the lapping of the salt water and the crunch of the sand underneath our shoes.
