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 things and be great things and leave the world a better place for having been here. They can be admired by the few who are perceptive enough to recognize them and yet will be ignored by the masses who are so caught up in themselves in their hurry to get home.

Yet no matter how glorious their presence, they are too soon gone and so quickly forgotten. Within moments of the sun’s passing the dark clouds have swept in removing all trace that ever there was a sun. A few will have admired them. A few will try to hold on to that memory of what they were. But even those memories, no matter how painstakingly etched, will fade. Then what?

Most people will choose to be the roach-like crabs. They will store up their goods in their cave, darting out only long enough to gather more and then darting back to the safety of the their rock. They will all look alike and act alike and be alike because it is less dangerous than to stand out from the crowd when there are always great herons patrolling the beach. They will never have the pleasure of standing transfixed on the sand and watching the magnificence of something outside their small dark world. When they pass no one outside their immediate family will even notice. It will be no great loss. No moment in time that the people on the shore will try to preserve.

I’ve been attacked and nearly drowned at this beach before, so I have to determine how much farther I can walk before turning and heading for home. I want to walk all night, but know that I can’t so I am trying to calculate exactly how much daylight I will have left and eventually reaching the critical point, I turn back toward the East. I had been focused on the sky and reaching for goals and now in the mid-life of light, I begin to look at things differently. I notice the shells and the rocks and walk through the water; something I couldn’t do safely while I was looking at the sun.

I feel relaxed and can enjoy and think about the little lessons this walk has taught me. I am alone, but not lonely. I feel embraced by nature as her soft breeze caresses my hair. I feel her softness on my feet as my toes sift the sugar like sand with each step. I feel her radiating from the earth and the sky, enveloping me in warmth. I am less hurried as I near my destination. The end is in sight, and I have just enough light left to finish the course.

As I walk the last few feet to my truck I am, once again, halted by the comparison of this stroll and death. I am at the end of my time here. I am out of light. I am tired, but I have so much more inside that I want to give.

Will I one day face death and say “I’m not ready. I didn’t do all that I wanted to get done!”?

Why does this thought cause tears to stream down my face? I am so young, why do I even think about this with such a feeling of urgency?