COW VIDAL SAYS, “I LOVE THE BEACH’
Cow Vidal takes a moment to refelct
COW VIDAL SAYS, “I LOVE THE BEACH”
Ah, the beach, that quintessential playground. With its golden sands stretching far and wide, kissed by the gentle embrace of the ocean waves, it is a place where one can truly appreciate the beauty of our magnificent land. As I, Cow Vidal, partake in this summertime ritual, I can't help but reflect on the simple joys that have always drawn me to the shore.
One might wonder why a partially bovine-headed author such as myself has an affinity for the beach but let me assure you that my cow-like features have never been a hindrance to my appreciation of the seaside. In fact, my prodigious horns have occasionally come in handy, serving as a makeshift parasol to shield me from the sun's relentless rays. But I digress; let us return to the matter at hand—the beach.
The beach, you see, holds a special place in my heart, not unlike my fondness for the written word or a lush, grass-filled pasture. It's a place where I can escape the hustle and bustle of the literary world and indulge in one of my greatest pleasures: ice cream. Yes, dear reader, ice cream at the beach is a sublime experience, and I dare say it rivals the finest prose ever penned or the freshest alfalfa in spring.
As I stroll along the shoreline, gazing out at the horizon, I can't resist the allure of the ice cream vendor's cart. The sweet aroma of freshly churned ice cream wafts through the salty sea breeze, beckoning me closer. I stand in line, my horns bobbing ever so slightly in anticipation.
The selection is vast, but my heart belongs to a classic scoop of vanilla, nestled in a crisp waffle cone. With a smile and a nod, I acquire my frozen treasure, and with the sand beneath my toes, I embark in haste on a delightfully sweet journey, for ice cream at the beach must be enjoyed swiftly, the unyielding sun shows no mercy to those who dawdle with their frozen delights. Each bite akin to grains of sand slipping through my fingers, carries a heavenly sweetness that lingers in my senses.
As I relish each luscious, sweet taste of frozen enchantment on this sun-kissed beach, my thoughts drift back to an earlier age and the enchanting tale of Beatrice Montgomery, the epitome of New York's wealthy elite, and Cow Samuel Turner, a humble beach tender who could only dream of enjoying such creamy delights.
Beatrice, with her resplendent dresses and the finest jewelry adorning her, was the undisputed queen of high society in her time, her name whispered in admiration wherever she went. The beach was her playground, a canvas for her opulent soirées, where she effortlessly navigated a complex web of politics and intrigue.
And then there was Cow Samuel, diligent beach tender, working tirelessly under the relentless sun, his hands calloused from his endless labors, his horns large yet unseen. He could only watch as his higher-ups reveled in their extravagant seaside escapades, indulging in ice cream with carefree abandon.
Now, as I sit here, the waves gently lapping at my feet, it's as though the beach remembers their contrasting stories—the lavish balls and grand affairs, the longing looks Cow Samuel cast toward the ice cream vendor's cart. This world, with all its excesses and inequalities, comes alive in the duality of their experiences. The beach, a silent witness, holds their secrets and whispers them to those who dare to listen, just as it does for me in the waning light of the afternoon.
As I sit here on the beach, I am reminded of the simple joys that make life truly extraordinary. The beach, with its sun, sand, and ice cream, is a place where I, Cow Vidal, can find solace, inspiration, and a taste of the sweet, fleeting moments that make existence so utterly delightful. And so, as the day draws to a close, and the sun disappears into the briny distant depths, my thoughts drift toward another of life’s pleasures; hay.
