Searching for Treasures
When I arrived at the beach this morning, I noticed a man walking toward the Broadwalk wearing a hat with a light shining down on the sand and gently but purposefully swinging a metal detector with his right arm. He stopped, stooped down, scooped up something, carefully examined it, tossed it back onto the beach, and moved on. I began to think about his possible motives and what it was he might be hoping to find.
Maybe he was out there anticipating the thrill of an adventure. Perhaps he was hoping to gather enough coins for a cup of coffee, or maybe he was in search of a buried treasure. I stood watching him for a moment and then made my way down to the shore.
Unlike most mornings, the ocean was lined with an unusual number of boats of all sizes. Red and white flags bobbed along the sea signaling divers below. At first I was surprised to see so much activity on the ocean, well before the sun had even risen. As I passed someone carrying a bag with two large lobsters, it occurred to me why they were all out there. Today begins the short, two-day mini-lobster season in Florida. People were hunting for their dinner. Because the still sea resembled a gigantic bathtub, I imagine that they were having no trouble locating their delectable treasures.
With my head bent, I meandered down the deserted shore in a meditative state, collecting jewels from the sea. There is little I enjoy more than ambling along the sand with my toes in the surf searching for shells. Because the waters were calm and the tide was low, looking for my favorite treasures was at its best.
At some point, I realized that I was softly singing “Eli, Eli,” a song written by Hannah Szenes, a Hungarian who parachuted into Yugoslavia during World War II to assist in the rescue of Hungarian Jews who were about to be deported to Auschwitz. This song, a prayer hoping that the sand and the sea and the rush of the water never ends, has been a favorite of mine since I first heard it many decades ago. Inevitably when I hear or sing it, I am reminded of the many wonderful, natural treasures that surround me in my life. Luckily, I don’t have to go far to find them.
Maybe he was out there anticipating the thrill of an adventure. Perhaps he was hoping to gather enough coins for a cup of coffee, or maybe he was in search of a buried treasure. I stood watching him for a moment and then made my way down to the shore.
Unlike most mornings, the ocean was lined with an unusual number of boats of all sizes. Red and white flags bobbed along the sea signaling divers below. At first I was surprised to see so much activity on the ocean, well before the sun had even risen. As I passed someone carrying a bag with two large lobsters, it occurred to me why they were all out there. Today begins the short, two-day mini-lobster season in Florida. People were hunting for their dinner. Because the still sea resembled a gigantic bathtub, I imagine that they were having no trouble locating their delectable treasures.
With my head bent, I meandered down the deserted shore in a meditative state, collecting jewels from the sea. There is little I enjoy more than ambling along the sand with my toes in the surf searching for shells. Because the waters were calm and the tide was low, looking for my favorite treasures was at its best.
At some point, I realized that I was softly singing “Eli, Eli,” a song written by Hannah Szenes, a Hungarian who parachuted into Yugoslavia during World War II to assist in the rescue of Hungarian Jews who were about to be deported to Auschwitz. This song, a prayer hoping that the sand and the sea and the rush of the water never ends, has been a favorite of mine since I first heard it many decades ago. Inevitably when I hear or sing it, I am reminded of the many wonderful, natural treasures that surround me in my life. Luckily, I don’t have to go far to find them.
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