Roses on the Beach

Yesterday, our first walk on the beach was noticeably short. Very depressing indeed. After so much work in Belgium, we had been dreaming about resuming our long walks on the beach in Brittany. We were hoping for sunny skies and fair weather.

There we were, battling with a very wintery Northern wind. The sky was awfully grey and the cold was extreme (for Brittany and the beginning of March that is...). I know, I know. I am being terribly unreasonable there and quite ridiculous too.

When we woke up this morning, it was still very cold and foggy. But the weather report was hinting about a warming up as early as noon. A sunny afternoon, so they said.

Well, we had to wait until 1 p.m. But the sun did come out of hiding and we rushed to take a walk right away even though Popeye was supposed to go back to Belgium in the early afternoon.

There it was. Our beloved beach looking so cheerful. There is nothing better than a ray of sun to brighten your day after all. Even though a not so nice east wind was a bit chilly. The sun was shining at last... for the first time in more than three weeks, at least as far as we were concerned.

We started our walk as usual, straight towards the water’s edge. The tide had been ebbing for the last couple of hours.

We were half way to the shore when we stumbled upon the unexpected... Roses planted out in the sand... Seven of them. Whoever had done this knew etiquette. Odd numbers... (Unless we are talking about one or three dozen!) At least in France in olden times.

A long line of roses facing the sea.

Real roses. Beautiful roses shooting up from the sand.

Now who could have done this less than an hour before, right when the sea started to go out?

Could love be strong enough to drive someone to believe that roses would grow in salty wet sand because all sorts of miracles happen, don’t they?

Were those roses paying a tribute to some very special and precious person or some happy event maybe? Did they symbolize an offering to life? To love? To happiness?

The marine gardener could have put them down together on a rock like a beautiful bouquet but he or she did not.

The roses were planted in a line. Why? Were they pointing out some thread that the uninitiated would never see nor grasp?

Why were they left there with no one to watch over them? Were the very few people out for a Sunday walk on the beach supposed to pick them?

Everybody was walking around them, very carefully. We heard a few remarks. People were thoroughly mystified.

And then we realized that they were there for us to be filled with wonder.

The sun was shining and it was a beautiful day. There are good days and bad days. 

 

This was the perfect day when roses could and would grow from a golden sandy beach.

*Good Luck, and Good Night*