Morning at the beach watching Ivan's calling card.

I went to the beach today. To stare at the earth and sky. To look out over the ocean and watch the waves pound the shore. Well.. Miami really doesn't have a "shore" Maine does as Sharon so often explains. But, we have the beach... the sand.. what we natives think of poetically as the seashore. And, we have fishing piers that reach our far beyond the beach where fisherman fish and spectators pay $1.00 to watch the fisherman fish and the surf pass by under your feet.
Sunny Isles Pier. Just north of Haulover Beach. End of the road for people in North Miami Beach.

Hangout of fisherman, kids playing hookey from school casting lines off the pier and people who just want to get away from the city and stand far out above the water a bit and feel the strong winds of a faraway Hurricane. The big deep end where they usually fish late into the night is closed and roped off. A victim of Frances. A few boards popped out and are missing. Ripped away by the bottom end of the storm surge from Frances. One only wonders what would be left in anything if Ivan was coming ashore in North Miami Beach.

It was wonderful. Truly, really wonderful. Nonstop wind and wild surging waters. Not waves cresting so much as tons of water rushing towards the shore, a sense of hugeness and grandeur pounding endlessly, nonstop towards the beach. Foamy white tops, storm green waters that are somewhere between shades of gray, green and a drop of beige swirling past the pier in one mass movement of water that traveled far to get here from the other part of Ivan that will go further up the Gulf of Mexico towards whatever city Ivan chooses to call his final landfall. This water swirled around the state of Florida to get here. Amazes me. Through the Straits of Florida, rushing into the Gulfstream to land in bits and pieces upon South Florida's shore.

Maybe Jeanne will follow in its wake. Don't know. I just know that the explosive quality of the water today was awessome ....as the waves broke just below where I stook on the pier about two thirds of the way out to the far end. When the water broke it was magical in intensity. There was a crashing, gnashing look to the water and from deep down water swirled back up again muddy colored water with bits and pieces of sand mixed in still so far out away from the shore... such was the power of that surf today. Vortexes bubbled to the surface and swirled in angry eddies and slowly mixed together with the rest of the water moving fast and heavy towards the distant beach. The part of the water closer to the beach was covered with a white foam as here and there a wave broke one more time before ending its journey towards land.

A surfer played at surfing but mostly his strong muscular body just rested upon the board as he let the current carry him further and further out looking for one good wave to ride. His white tee shirt was soaked and looked almost lavender like against his skin. For a man so strong he looked relaxed and calm as he road the board under waves that broke far from the shore and washed over him, so that he disapeered and then he reappeared again moving further and further away from the shore. I watched as he was eneveloped in the rushing, tumbling water as inferior waves broke about him and then turned flat and moved on past him on their way towards the beach. He tried a few waves but he didn't get very far surfing back on his board. Even in a stormy sea Miami waves aren't much to write home about I'm afraid but then we are known for bathing beauties sunning themselves on white washed sands, sunny beaches, models waiting for shoots to set up and South American Beauties walking hand in hand down our sunny beaches. Other beaches are known for surfers... so if he wants to surf along, ride lazily out on a current while waves wash over him enjoying the morning.. let him surf on looking for a wave, enjoying the morning. I did. He enriched mine. It was fun watching him.

The beauty of a storm far, far away raging so strong in the Gulf that you could feel its power on an Atlantic side beach waiting to see if Jeanne will show her face in a few days or if the beach will wait some more for the next storm to grace its sandy shore.

Frances felt kind.
Ivan doesn't.

Watch out where ever he travels. He is not kind.