The Beach House

What a conference room that was. A beach house on the cape with a view of the ocean. Waves standing up and pounding the sand, white foam riding atop green water lit by the sun climbing into a clear, blue sky.

We staked out our seats before the others arrived. On the far side of the room. With a view of surf and the sand and the sun and the sky. Two and a half days in a conference room like that, with breaks periodically to walk outside and listen to the pounding waves, and follow the narrow path down to the beach, where neither a soul nor a building was visible as far as you could see to the north or the south.

An armadillo rummaged around in the underbrush as I stood out there. A dolphin surfaced just beyond the waves. Our break was over. It was time to get back to work. I snapped a picture of the armadillo and two of the beach and made my way back into the beach house and sat back down in my seat.

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