Sunsets and Miracles

I'm thinking of sunsets on Paine's Creek Beach when the brilliancy of the vista resembles a photoshop enhanced picture. The marsh grass so vividly green it looks unreal. The water so electrifyingly blue it looks like the carribean. And the sun. The sun emanating sultry tones of orange as it rides lower and lower in the sky.

The best place to watch the sun melt into the water is at the end of the jetty, feet dangling in the water when the tide is high. Every boulder that the jetty is comprised of is a friend to me. I know the progression of stones, every slope and texture. I know which ones are smooth on barefeet and where it's easiest to stub a toe.

It's impossible to be worried at this place. It's impossible to think of anything except the miracle occuring before your eyes.

The miracle is this: The ebb and flow of the water. The scurrying of Fiddler Crabs at the shore line. The way the water gently rocks the marsh grass side to side. The white of the egret. The sound of lapping water. The smell of salt and silt. The stars appearing in the East. The crying seagulls floating on invisible atoms of oxygen. The reflection of the splendor of the sun upon the mecurial waves. The way every night the scene is familiar but the sunset is always different.

Yes, I'm thinking of sunsets of Paine's Creek Beach. Too many seen to ever count, but not enough to ever loose my wonder.