What is even more grand than the places where the tide washes the sand with streaks of purple, is the triad of massive stones, sculpted on the perimeter of the beach.
When we walked onto the sand, I remember a few comments likes “Wow” but immediately Rhia was off exploring and I was following my camera eye. We found each other maybe an hour, two hours later? With the wind, waves and breathless beauty who can tell time.
To take in the grand, big things and to admire the infinitesimal bits of wonder was our joy, our sole purpose for being.
Writing has that beach feature. I can zoom in on a tiny glimpse of a profile in the shadow of the evening and the one sound I heard, or vault around the meaning of life and universal themes that turn into essays, memoirs.