Changes on the Beach from the time I got so sick I could not go down there for a year

 After many months, my stamina is pretty much back, maybe all back if you allow for more than 2 years of aging. But where is Bruce? He was the single one who would be on the beach in the wildest weather. He would expect to see me and I would expect to see him. Where is Tom A.? He bounded, almost bounced as he ran. It's been 2 and a half years since I last saw him. The Queen of the Beach is still there, but with an injured knee, reduced to walking. Today she asked me the name of the man who ran just out in the water with no shirt. She meant the King of the Beach, Frank, but he was already fading away before I got sick. He had been knocked down by a bully who brought 4 fierce dogs to the beach. He tried to run with a broken arm for a time. He really was magnificent. Like the best of the runners, he was recognizable from afar. We talked a few times but mainly we lifted both arms high in momentary acknowledgment of each other. The dunes have changed so much in the last ten years as to be unrecognizable. And with Covid I don't want to chat with most of the people who remember me. My memory was partly erased by sickness. It's lonelier down there but I feel as much joy down there as ever, from the air, the hills, the Rock, the beach, the water, and the walkers and runners. But no hugging, no chatting face close to face. It's lonelier.