every night is not a touchdown

Sunsets are one of the most alluring attractions of the beach. Well, beaches with a western view.

Some of my local frends and acquaintances take far more advantage of this luxury than I do. Even though sunsets occur every evening, I am usually doing something else -- and miss the opportunity to notch up another green flash sighting.

And, if the potential beauty were not enough, as my Canadians friends remind me: "It's absolutely free."

That "potential" was not a surplus adjective. Not every sunset is outstanding. The best require the confluence of several circumstances. Cloud placement. Cloud structure. Temperature. Humidity. A great sunset is as hard to concoct as a fair tax system -- but, fortunately, far more common.

After entertaining a series of guests over the past four months, Darrel, Christy, and I looked forward to spending a simple evening together. And what could be simpler -- and more rewarding -- than a leisurely walk to the beach to watch the sun end its day.

The sky was not promising. There was a ribbon of clouds that peeked just over the horizon. That meant there was no possibility of seeing the wily green flash. The shift in the light spectrum would be as shielded as Lily Langtry behind a Chinese screen.

And, because there were no clouds high in the sky, we would not be treated to the effect of cherry blossoms floating across the sky. There was even little hope of the small band of clouds on the horizon lighting up. And it didn't.

But, without a peacock to admire, we started paying attention to the people who had been drawn to the diminished sands of Barra de Navidad's beach. There were the usual skim boarders.

Last night, they were joined by a younger brother who could not have been much more than five. His idea of learning the fine art of skimming was to stand posed on his sand-stranded board, and wait for the surf come to him.

There were the usual northerners. Some expatriates. Others tourists. Trying to stuff in one more sunset before giving in to the goose instinct to fly north.

The most surprising group were fifteen to twenty young Mexicans. Guys and gals. They had staked out their space on the beach with two cases of beer. But, before the first bottles were cracked open, out came the inevitable ball. It took me a few moments to realize it was a football. Not a soccer ball. An American football. And most of them were quite proficient at tossing it.

There had to be a story there. But my journalistic instincts were deterred by the simple act of feeding off of their enthusiasm. There is something about young people at play that energizes the soul.

Last night was not a sunset night. At least, not a memorable sunset night. But it was a night to be remembered for its imparted joy.

I need to get to the beach more often. It may not cost anything, but it certainly pays high dividends.