I walk the beach at low tide, a daily trek. The sky is overcast and there’s not a soul around. I wander and ponder, trying to pull myself out of my head and into the present beauty. Waves ebb and flow, back and forth, in and out, like thoughts.

Some small movement turns my head and I’m surprised by a man walking toward me. He’s older and faltering, but he moves steadily closer. When close enough to speak without shouting, I say hello.

He nods and turns to sit on a log. His odd hat is misshapen, his faded dark clothes hang loosely, and his shoes are almost worn through. He looks out to sea, as if preoccupied. I wonder if he lives around here and if someone watches out for him. Forlorn. He looks forlorn and at an age where maybe he shouldn’t be out here walking alone.

I sit next to him on the log, with space enough for two between us. “Do you live up the hill?” I ask, directing my head east where several houses are nestled between the firs and cedars.

He doesn’t turn to look at the hill or me, just the sea. “I lived here. All past.”

“Oh,” I say, and wait because I learned from my grandma that older people appreciate long pauses. 

After a time, he says, “Long ago, I knew this water well.”

“That’s great,” I say, making conversation. I wish I knew water well. I wonder if I should walk back to the road. Maybe his children or a caregiver are looking for him.

He stands and takes a few steps in the same direction he was going.

“Enjoy life,” he says.

I stand and start to say, “Thank you…”, but he disappears. Just like that, into thin grey air. I sit down again and look around. No one. I replay the whole meeting again, and again, and find one conclusion: this beach has a ghost.

(until next space…..)