7 o'clock on a weeknight- the changing of the guard at the shoreline.
It's a gradual procedure because when you're on the beach time is never finite. But during the 90 minutes between 6:00 and 7:30 there is a definite change to the beach. Sunbathers and skim-boarders cede there places at the water's edge to dog walkers and treasure hunters.
I'm not sure if it's the lowering of the sun or rumbling of stomachs but on unspoken cue darkly tanned boys with hair swept back by wind and sea salt lose interest in the waves and head inland. Mom's gather up a dozen beach towels, six pairs of sunglasses, three bottles of sunblock, tuck them all in a cloth bag, and begin their mental rundown of the dinner menu as they call to three of their own children and half a dozen friends that it's time to go.
In their place come folks in cargo shorts, tee shirts, and sneakers with dogs on the end of twenty foot retractable leashes. Tennis balls are thrown into the waves and the dogs dutifully fetch the prize. While the dog sports are underway, folks armed with metal detectors, shovels, and cloth bags of their own work their way across grids of sand in the hopes of uncovering a unique gem.
The next shift change comes at moonrise. Perhaps we'll peek in on those folks another time.
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