I looked around and breathed it all in as the sun sank toward the city. Soon, after about a week of school our tans would be gone, our hours of play limited, and our exposure to all this beauty but a memory. As larger blocks of time passed, no one there that day would go on to escape adolescence unscathed or fail to meet serious challenges in adulthood. But standing there that day looking at that water, that sky, that marsh, and smelling that air, while enjoying these companions, I remember distinctly thinking that this was paradise.
There have been days since when I have experienced similar feelings, though less intense. They occur, most often, entering that creek or another nearby at sunset after a day spent by the water. It helps if it’s August, and the temperature is warm, the sky is clear, and the tide is high. I have thought about that special time and that one day in particular Could it somehow be recaptured in words for others to experience? After reading the words that have preceded these over and over again, I realize that it’s almost an impossible task. There is hope, however.
In interviews, I’ve heard the most talented people from the arts and other fields of endeavor stumble and struggle to explain how they create such beauty or greatness, finally concluding it’s the type of thing where you know it when you feel it. So…late in the season, late the day, down by where the land ends, the bluest of blues, and the greenest of greens are there to be taken in. The water is clean and deep, the breeze is soft and the air is salty. The sun is low in the sky sitting above the horizon to the west, where the city lies in wait.
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