Tide pools in La Jolla

I stand at the top of a cliff and look out over the Pacific Ocean. I know there is life out there, but I cannot see it. The surface reflects the color of the sky, like a giant one-way mirror, denying me the chance to view the world below.

I descend down the cliff to the sandy beach below. As I draw nearer to the water the sand turns to a mushy smooth surface. Tentatively I step out onto one of the rocks not knowing if it will be slick. The footing is good on this rock and so I venture further. The sun is reflecting now off the water. But as I come to the edge of the pool and the angle between myself, the water and the sun changes, it is like a door opening and I am at last allowed to see the room within, the tide pool.

As I try to get down closer I notice the rock beside the pool. The top is covered with many white barnacles drawn together in an intricate pattern of lace. Below these is a nest of white goose net muscles, they are bunched together like a large family of baby doves in a nest that is covered by a black net. There are also Chitons on this rock, at first they look like an old fossilized sea creature, but as I touch one with my finger it contracts and squeezes out a little bit of water. Closer to the water there are large groupings of muscles these are the span of my hand in length big, and black with only a small sliver of purple showing between the shells to indicate these shells are occupied by living creatures; unlike the empty shells I can find on the beach. I look in the pool and see a giant sea anemone. Its tentacles flow gracefully as a wave trickles by, like a ballerina dancing to some unheard song those tentacles will pluck food from that water as it flows by.

I look up from the pool and out to sea. A black head emerges from the water about 100 feet away. It is a seal swimming around the exterior of this grouping of rocks, probably looking for a good spot the climb up out of the water. He swims behind a rock out of my view.

I move on to the next pool. There is a vast maze of pools here to explore. In some there is sea grass acting as a curtain waiting for someone to raise it to reveal its treasure. The sea grass is slick and I learn to be more careful of my steps here.

Finally I reach the end of the maze and ascend the stairs again to go. At the top I turn and again look out to sea. It is reflecting the magma orange of the sunset now. I watch and reflect on my time here. I feel as though I have only been snorkeling along the surface of this vast sea, I long to strap on some scuba gear and truly dive in to explore it. Perhaps someday I will. I know that I have only scratched the surface of seeing what the oceans wonders are like, but I long to see as someone who cares to notice such things. When you think you’re close enough to see all that lies before you, like looking into the tide pool and seeing the creatures I saw, I thought I saw all that there was there to see. But I understand that if I could have examined that same tide pool with a microscope or even a magnifying glass there was much more there to see that I could not. Another example is when you think your getting close enough to a person to really see them, then realizing you've only begun to see, who they are what they are like and who they may become. What it all comes down to in this life is you need to be seeing, hearing, noticing, feeling and caring about nature, because nature affects us everyday and we need to make our contribution. Experiences like La Jolla remind me of the little things that really matter in life. Everyday I come in contact with other beings who calls this world home. I see, hear and feel them the question is how well do I really see them? And seeing them, do I understand how their presence there affects my life and I here? This is a question that will stay with me for a while.