Beach, Mornings

Palolem, Goa · landscape

A line of footprints crosses a flat beach toward water that has no edge. The morning's first walker, leaving a record that the next tide will erase.

Palolem in south Goa is one of the few beaches that empties out completely between seasons. By April, the shacks have come down, the tourists have left, and the long curve of sand belongs to the local fishermen and the early walkers. At low tide, the wet sand mirrors the sky. At high tide, it doesn't.

I was on the beach at six-thirty when the line of footprints I was following turned out to be the only line on the whole arc. Some shells on the tideline. A couple of distant figures further down. Otherwise just sand, water, and a horizon that didn't bother committing to where exactly it was. I shot looking down the prints toward the surf, then turned and shot the other way looking back at my own. By eight o'clock the tide came in and erased everything. The next morning, the beach reset and started again. There are places that teach you about impermanence by example, and beaches are the easiest of these — the lesson is twice a day, on schedule, free of charge.

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