Redondo Beach (sic) looking north, 1940. Photo by William Reagh. Courtesy the California State Library.

Another time

by Garrison Frost

Someone must have just swept this walkway. That, or there just hasn’t been any wind to speak of. Either way, there isn't a speck of sand on this concrete. You can hear the distinctive clack of each step echoing against the walls of these cottages.

It’s quiet this afternoon. Even the surf seems hushed. There aren’t many people out, and the few that are seem to be observing the same reverence for the quiet that you yourself have acquired since your walk began. There is almost a formality out here. The sky is overcast, and maybe the clouds have something to do with the silence. You are glad you thought to bring a jacket. The air is a little cool, but this jacket will do fine.

Off in the distance, you can just make out the hills of Malibu. Much closer is the Hermosa Beach pier. Who wouldn’t want to be here, to live in one of these nicely kept cottages on the shore, to fall asleep to the sound of the waves and wake up to the sound of the gulls? Who wouldn’t want to step outside to this every day?

You continue on your walk. Up ahead an older couple is strolling close, staying warm. A man is walking up from the water with a fishing pole. There is something to this moment that seems so real, so permanent, as if it will always be this way.

(April 16, 2007)

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