The remnants of Hurricane Earl scraped the shore at Cape May leaving it level and soft. Or maybe that was the efforts of the beach combing machines. Under the brilliant sky, the surf boomed and heaved onto a soaked beach. The wind sprinkled sand over everything.
My family temporarily claimed a part of the bright beach. We put our backs to the wind, hunkering into chairs, and occasionally staggered to the surf.
Conversations along the beach threw themselves to other people’s ears. Some guy said to a young woman as he passed me, “If I didn’t work, you know what I’d do? I’d go—.” But, that was all I heard.
And then: “Are you going in?”
“To the hotel?”
“No, the ocean.”
“When will you be back?”
“I’m going in the water.”
“Bring me back a drink.”
Is this how ideas are formed? A snatchlet of conversation, a sound, or a word occasionally sprinkles itself on your brain and the next thing you say is, “I’m thirsty.”
Or, “Water movement produces energy, but would collecting the sound of water work, too?”