In classic lifeguard pose legs shoulder width apart, arms crossed, fingers neatly tucked between his chest and biceps he surveys the water, nodding slowly, as if in secret agreement with the ocean. After a brief demonstration on paddling out and catching a wave, he sends us off to fall repeatedly as we struggle with yet another new sport. Around 4 a.m., my eyes open to catch the Big Dipper preparing for its plunge into the Pacific. I wake one of the group's members, Carin, and the two of us head to the beach for an unobstructed view of the sky. Having both come from New York City , where there are approximately seven stars visible on a clear night, we gawk as we approach the shoreline.
Stars float on the horizon, threatening to sink forever into the sea's depths.
Carin and I gaze silently. Dimmer stars appear between the others as our eyes adjust to the darkness. Our awareness grows, and we witness shooting stars dropping like leaves in autumn the Perseid meteor shower . All too soon, the night slips away and dawn breaks, an orange explosion sparking fire in the eastern sky. After hours in the sand watching night become day, we walk back to the house and Carin goes back to sleep.