Sandbar

Yesterday in the later part of the afternoon Jim and I went to the beach. It was low tide and we walked out into the Gulf to the first sandbar. It had taken us a trip first down the shoreline and then back up until we found a section of water that was calm enough for us to traverse without being pulled or pushed by the chaotic turbulence and strong undertow.

There were other sandbars further out but I had to stop at the first one. It was glorious. I knelt down into the sandy bottom that I could see through the water. I looked upward and saw the sun lowering in the sky reflecting in the waves as they continued to smash against each other tumultuously. I was in awe.

A forest holds its own beauty. I grew up loving, playing in, and seeking and finding solace in the woods. Their scent, the sound of the forest floor as one walks, the enchanting way the sun dapples it as it peeks around the branches high up. The trees talk. My heart finds peace in the forest.

But the wilds of the Gulf hold a different kind of allure. It is power without mercy or humility that produces tranquility within my soul. What words does language hold that can come close to describing such a deep down inner core emotional reaction? I could have sat there forever and just watched as Jim's arms kept me anchored. Even as we got up to go back to shore, I had to turn around, stop, and look just one more time.