(Image by Maria Falvey, as well)

There aren’t many more days in the grab-bag that is the Alaskan autumn I can count on to be this visually delicious, and offer the experience of white caps breaking over the front of my boots as I dance with the waves before the setting sun.

Total mileage is insignificant as this is where I work out the events of the day, what I can expect tomorrow, sing at the top of my lungs without ridicule from others, indulge in the sun’s embrace and find all manner of natural items that stop me in my tracks to consider life, the universe and everything.

I cannot leave, not yet. One more look, just five minutes more to stoop again, retrieve another piece of seaglass, turn over a shell here, examine a stranded sea creature there; this is the place I look forward to, daydream about, from the time I wake until fatigue forces me into slumber. The soles of my boots are no stranger to the beach; they know each other well. So well, that I realize in five months I have become far more familiar with the shape and personality of this open space than I have ever been with a lover.

I cannot get enough. The air is too cold for anything less than fleece, scarf and hat. The water too frigid for swimming. I stay until my nose runs, my thighs sting from the wind and my fingers are numb beneath my gloves and yet, I cannot pull myself away. I must be with it. It’s not a decision, there is no choice. It is a directive.

This night, as with every evening, the sun slowly released its embrace and quietly slipped beyond the horizon while I declared aloud, “Just five minutes more, then I’ll leave the beach.”