Foot Traffic

This was one of the mornings I woke up and decided to trot down to the beach. I love Sunday mornings when the air is cool, the foot traffic is light and mostly silent, surfers bob, and I walk alone. The sand is wet, soft, cool. I happen to live where I climb down a cliff to the water.

There are perks to this "goat trail" and they are the drama of the cliff, the few who dare to brave the goat trail, and the shade it affords when the sun rises in the east. At sunset, the cliff burns gold like Maxfield Parrish. I look at his paintings (I love him) and know what he is talking about. We all travel light who descend to the beach. There was a time in my life I said I would believe in God if I found a whole sand dollar. It had been a while and I assumed they were possibly nonexistent. I have since found many sand dollars and happier still, they have little to do with my belief in God.

I think we do equate spirituality to the sea. The scriptures say Christ's voice is "the sound of the rushing of great waters." And people and worlds are pronounced numberless, as many as the sands of the sea.

Myself, I am one, and I am drawn to the shore, both water and sand.

S'more Summer

I was tempted to list a s'more as my death row dessert. Both last summer and this summer my goal was to eat them one evening. My favorite s'more venue of recent years was my sister's gas firepit at her previous home. It was easy, outdoor, and fulfilling. Her new home has no firepit; I don't know if she has realized the loss. Last week in St. George, we had s'mores the night before the keeds went back to school after cooking burgers on the bbq. Here, Taylor is eating a brownie roll-out cookie. They are remarkably yum and easy. If I can roll them out, anyone can. And, they go fast.