Today, midafternoon, as a cloud sat over the point, an unusual amount of surfers began to materialize. Young surfers, grizzled surfers, tanned leggy creatures in nearly nothing, barrel shaped hippies in synthetic seal skin, and bead strung youths in tattered Tshirts.
Rian counted fifty or sixty of these Water Walkers. They all carried flowers, singly or in bunches. A few of them carried children on their backs as they paddled with purpose into the sea and beyond the breakers.
"What is going on?" Rian asked a grizzled walrus.
"Memorial," he said, snuffing a cig on a rock. "Two of our buddies died out there, off the point. An accident."
There were land bound souls gathering on the shore as we spoke, with more flowers and more children.
It took more than twenty minutes for the group to paddle out. When they met they formed a linked circle of hands across water and boards. Rian could not hear what was said - twas too far away - bid I could see the tossing of flowers and the wild splashing of water. One Water Walker finally howled joy or sorrow and on land those that waited began tossing blossoms. Then both groups began to melt away just as they had come...into the grey.
Later Rian wandered down and took pictures of wet flowers against the waves. In the sand someone had scrawled "Daddy".

-------------------------------------------------------
This message was sent from a T-Mobile wireless phone.