I was out running errands at 5:30 tonight because Scott Lope and Cathy Mayeski were here to feed the cats on my route.  As I was headed home I noticed the sky was ablaze and, almost like a Candian Goose on internal radar for home, I turned for the causeway beach.  Drawn, like a hatchling turtle, to the ocean I discarded my sandals as my feet hit the ankle deep sand.  Always painfully aware of my surroundings, I summed up the people on the beach:  A young family, doing the only thing they could afford;  A couple in love, kissing and laughing; A woman deep in meditation who was fixated on the setting sun;  Further down were older couples and half a dozen tourists who were trying desperately to capture this sunset on film.

 

As I watched the mother gathering her brood back toward the station wagon I reminisced bringing my own small child here and realized that had been some 15 years ago.  I remember her being so excited about gathering shells and building those castles in the sand.  A tear wells up as I look back on her innocence.  I live 15 minutes from this fabulous place where the sand meets the sea and I haven’t been out of my car here in 15 years.  What was so important that I skipped this?

 

Where did my life go?

 

The beach has changed and where there once was a huge expanse of sand for miles, there is now a very narrow strip of sand that is broken for long portions by piles of rocks and a concrete sea wall that holds up the paved parking lot that has obviously been washed away by some brush with a hurricane.  So much of the beach, just like my youth is gone.  Most of the people on this beach tonight probably don’t even remember what a glorious sandy shore this once was.  No one here remembers how vibrant and enthusiastic about life I once was.

 

The sun looks surrealistic like something from the twisted mind of Dali.  It is far too big and far too orange to be a part of the darkening sky line.  The glow is so brilliant that even the gathering storm clouds are illuminated with colours that cannot be replicated on any earthly palette.  I am aglow, the tourists are glowing and it seems the whole world is a better place for a few moments.  The tourists and one young artist are clicking away their cameras at the setting sun.  They want to capture and remember this moment in time forever.

 

I’ve done it and I know that their attempts are futile.  This is too spiritual to capture on film.  You can enlarge the image to poster size, but you will never re create the feel of this precious moment in time.  Have they never tried and learned, or if I had a camera would I make another hopeless attempt at it?

 

As the ball of fire touches the steely blue water one would almost expect to hear the sizzle even this far away.  It sinks too quickly and seems to melt into glowing, fiery, lava gushing from it’s impact with the gulf of Mexico.   Momentarily I am frozen in my tracks, until the sun has disappeared  from sight.  Was I even breathing?  The roar of planes overhead and the endless drone of cars on the causeway was muted in this instance.

 

I am shocked back to reality by the slamming of car doors.  The beach goers have seen it and are off to what ever it is they do.  Only seven of us remain.   An elderly couple bask in the setting of the sun and the last days of their lives together.  The artist is still trying to photograph me candidly, but I am aware of him shadowing me and I can hear his shutter snapping every time I turn.  The meditating woman in the lawn chair is writing her take on this event and another elderly couple sit back to back as if they share nothing in common but the ride that brought them here.  Amongst the rocks are small dark crabs that act like roaches, scurrying to hide, as I walk near.

 

How much this reminds me of life.  Nearly everyone is born with the capacity to be the sun or to be a roach.  They can shine on all around them, providing warmth, illumination and inspiration.  They can do great thin