Low Tide - Half-Moon Bay on the Pacific Ocean.
The sun makes its descent as waves stretch beyond the horizon.
Seagulls circle in the distance.
Fit with proper oars, a canoe lightly punctuates the silence.
Executed perfectly to maintain a straight course.
The soft breeze - willowy in this spacious, unconstrained atmosphere
Lends to the solitude.
I stand quietly on the shore.
Mesmerized by the play of light washing over the crimson canvas,
I am speechless.
Color merges with her luminescent muse:
Reciprocating each hue, reflected in the ocean's current,
Every streak blends in untarnished harmony.
The frequency of Heaven orchestrates this repose.
A lightly syncopated rhythm heralds both present and past.
I keep waiting for Handle's Messiah to present its rhapsodic strains.
This lush tapestry unfolding before me is too magnificent for words.
Soon, twilight will cease, and the ocean -
Tranquil, yet attended -
Will be indistinguishable from the sky.
The waves will still ripple, the tide will flow -
Ebbing forward and back, forming feathery foam on the sandy shoreline.
My toes will squeal with delight.
The water, as long as I remain there,
Will glide up my ankles then slide downward.
All the while,
The ocean will unceasingly surge and retreat.
As quietly as the sun evanesces beyond a hushed horizon,
Unannounced; the moon will spill its gauzy beams of light.
I linger awhile longer as saltwater - a scent like none other - impregnates the tranquil night air.
Eventually, I break from my solitude, pack up my camera, and head to the van.
Replete with images - both in my mind, and now on film,
These memories will never vanish.
Over time, they may dim, but
Their remnant is found here - in this image...
One placed here - for your pleasure -
Where you too, might choose to
Form your own reflections.
Tarry awhile, won't you...
Wrap it around your own journey.
Allow a new wave to break forth.