Ruby slippers


It was a nice weekend to go driving.

In my mind’s eye I can see the waves crashing against the rocks, the daylight diffracted in the spray. The sun is high at first, bleaching the driftwood carcasses scattered throughout the landscape. There are people here, but few in the expanse of beach.

Here at the edge of the continent I can walk for a mile and be happy just looking at the stones at my feet. Northwest shores have sand: dark and wet, covered with small, thumb-sized pebbles; though ground into rounded smoothness by nature, you don’t really want to be walking barefoot on them. The water, when it does hit the skin, is as chill as the brisk wind coming in off the ocean.

Going south, the sea stacks diminish, until there’s nothing outwards but endless sea. As the sun descends and the sky dims, the eyes strain to make out the boundary between heaven and earth. This is the time to turn back, to watch the sunset against the rocks, now firmly ahead. Selva on the sand, in the dying light.

Amazing, this beach; so different on every visit, but for which I can visualize endless new configurations when I close my eyes and dream.

It would have been a nice weekend to go driving. Instead, I sit at home, white walls, dry air. But the memories of a sunset never experienced are still strong.

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  • B.

    Let's go!

  • SB

    very nice photo!

  • N.

    *dying with guilt*

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