the literal landscape...

It's interesting how one week can change a landscape.

Figuratively, metaphorically or literally.

Every Saturday morning, like clockwork, I take my dogs down to the beach for a nice long run. You aren't really supposed to have animals at the beach, but in the fall there are few people there, so I bend the rules a little. Or mold them, if you will, to fit my needs. I highly doubt that a park ranger will come after me. They have other issues to deal with, I'm sure.

I park my car at the far end of the upper lot.

Edgewater Park is a very large park just 3 miles from my home. Just a stones throw from downtown Cleveland. It's a sprawling two level park boxed in by a Yacht Club, limestone cliffs and the Shoreway or Route 2. The Edgewater Yacht Club is located at the far end of the park on the lower level. It's considered one of the premier yacht clubs on the Westside for sailing. It's protected from foul weather by the break wall and you don't have to wait for bridges to rise to get out to Lake Erie.

The lower level has a large open area that has become home to many kite flying enthusiasts. The large horseshoe shaped beach is a popular destination in the summer months. In the winter, there are few people that venture onto the beach area. The north wind can quickly pick up the fine sand and literally sand blast your face if you aren't careful.

The upper level is wooded with a sharp cliffs to the lake below. Picnic tables line the edge for a wonderful view of the downtown skyline and the water crib standing majestically 5 miles out. Large ships can regularly be seen on the horizon and small watercraft bob with the waves while fishing for Perch. The right side of the upper level has a gentler slope with bike and walking path that leads down to the beach and lower level. In the winter months my daughter and I will sled there. Many times we've gathered enough speed that has taken us from the ledge almost down to the waters edge. It's a long walk back up, but well worth the effort.

In the middle is a hidden, beat up, wooden staircase. This trek leads you down to the beach on the far left end of the park. That's our favorite spot to walk. Driftwood washes up and makes the access limited. We like to forge our way to the point where the water meets the cliff. Canadian Geese gather in this slightly protected cove resting for the next leg of their journey. Sienna, my hunter and Labradoodle, tries desperately to catch them. But they are just a little too quick for her. Or they float just beyond her reach in the water, almost as if they are toying with her and testing out her swimming abilities.

On this Saturday morning, as I tight walked over the larger driftwood logs across a small pool of water left with the receding tide, I realized that the landscape had drastically changed in one weeks time.

I pulled out my phone to peruse the photos I had taken the previous week. To check to make sure that it wasn't just my imagination. As I sat on an old picnic table half buried in the sand, long ago tossed over the cliffs edge to land on the beach. I looked at the photos. Yes. Indeed. This week the shell encrusted beach had more stones and bricks that weren't there the week before.

In one week.

Over a ton of wave beaten old bricks and stones, parts of chimneys still intact with mortar, had washed up on our section of beach. How? And from where did it come?

I checked the grassy hillside above and there was no sign of trauma on the landscape. No sign that it was dumped down from above. Plus the age of the bricks and the wear on the finish belied the fact that these had been in the water for some time.

As I sat and contemplated the changes in the photos and watched the dogs romp, I realized how different things can be in one weeks time. Why should my beach be any different?

Last week it was sunny. And warm. The last of the barefoot beach walks for the year. Two weeks ago it was rainy and cool, borderline rain gear weather. This week there was a gray mist so you could hardly discern the sky from the lake from the beach.

Not only had the landscape of the beach changed literally from week to week, but my own life had changed. My personal life seems to have mirrored the weather.

I thought about how our own personal landscapes changes figuratively. Without our knowledge.

Sometimes I wonder how much control we actually have on the changes at hand. How many events seem to change us...not the other way around. That maybe I don't really have that much power to manipulate my own life. Just the ability to deal with what is served.

Perhaps it was just the day, or the color of the sky, or the sense of smallness one feels when sitting at the edge of a large body of water. Sitting there in the mist realizing how small I really am in the grand scheme of things.

And yet, in the mist, the gray haze, my inner optimist continues to remain alive and unfazed. It has this perception and tenacity that serves me well. That inner voice is always strong and clear. It says, "Look how beautiful things are...", no matter what week it is.

You see, it's really all in the perspective.

And view.

I'm so glad mine remains relatively in focus.

:-)