One of the wonderful gifts of walking on the beach early in the morning is that I see things I have never seen before--life a hawk soaring with a big fish in its talons and the fish waving its tail in the air (see the previous entry)--and like light rays wheeling across the sky above the cliffs.
The other morning, about an hour after sunrise, I'm walking along a broad expanse of beach between high red clay cliffs and long, rolling ocean waves. The sky is blue and bright, but the beach is still in shadow all the way up the cliffs. The sand is cool and velvety under my feet. The water is cold. The air, though, is dry, dry, dry. The temperature had been in the 90s for days, creating an oppressive air.
As I'm walking along in the surf, something catches my eye up over the cliffs. Something big is moving up there. I pause and look up. Rays of light are arcing across the sky, forming a big color wheel. Except it has no color, really, just a sparkling, shimmering light that's all colors and no color, and all light. Somehow each ray is distinct, with straight lines formed by a darkening at the edges marking its boundaries. And they are moving!
The rays are narrow at the base and broaden out to the sky, and they circumscribe a semi-circle. Even the top of the arc is discernible. There's a beginning and end to it, but the rays never stop moving. They rotate left to right, then right to left, on and on, back and forth continuously.
I see my mind trying to understand, grasping at the familiar--maybe someone has set up a light on the cliffs or is swinging a lantern or it's an emergency vehicle light flashing--but no, none of that makes sense. I stand and watch for quite some time, taking it in, and it just keeps going and going.
I wonder how far I can walk and still see it, so I start walking and watching for the second it might stop. About 20 feet down the beach, there's a slight break in the cliffs, a little dip, and that's where it stops. The sun nestles right into the dip of the cliffs, a bright golden ball, and the sky is still, no rays of light. I back up, and there's the wheel of light again sweeping across the sky. I walk forward, and it's gone, and there's the sun. Back and forth a few times, just to see, and every time it starts and stops at the point where the sun becomes visible in the dip in the cliffs.
Like a new kind of rainbow--still an arc--but the rays shine up from ground to sky and move continuously left to right and right to left and have no color--this light wheel cuts through the oppressive heat and shows me that new wonders are indeed possible. It's all a matter of perspective and being in the right place at the right time and looking up.
The other morning, about an hour after sunrise, I'm walking along a broad expanse of beach between high red clay cliffs and long, rolling ocean waves. The sky is blue and bright, but the beach is still in shadow all the way up the cliffs. The sand is cool and velvety under my feet. The water is cold. The air, though, is dry, dry, dry. The temperature had been in the 90s for days, creating an oppressive air.
As I'm walking along in the surf, something catches my eye up over the cliffs. Something big is moving up there. I pause and look up. Rays of light are arcing across the sky, forming a big color wheel. Except it has no color, really, just a sparkling, shimmering light that's all colors and no color, and all light. Somehow each ray is distinct, with straight lines formed by a darkening at the edges marking its boundaries. And they are moving!
The rays are narrow at the base and broaden out to the sky, and they circumscribe a semi-circle. Even the top of the arc is discernible. There's a beginning and end to it, but the rays never stop moving. They rotate left to right, then right to left, on and on, back and forth continuously.
I see my mind trying to understand, grasping at the familiar--maybe someone has set up a light on the cliffs or is swinging a lantern or it's an emergency vehicle light flashing--but no, none of that makes sense. I stand and watch for quite some time, taking it in, and it just keeps going and going.
I wonder how far I can walk and still see it, so I start walking and watching for the second it might stop. About 20 feet down the beach, there's a slight break in the cliffs, a little dip, and that's where it stops. The sun nestles right into the dip of the cliffs, a bright golden ball, and the sky is still, no rays of light. I back up, and there's the wheel of light again sweeping across the sky. I walk forward, and it's gone, and there's the sun. Back and forth a few times, just to see, and every time it starts and stops at the point where the sun becomes visible in the dip in the cliffs.
Like a new kind of rainbow--still an arc--but the rays shine up from ground to sky and move continuously left to right and right to left and have no color--this light wheel cuts through the oppressive heat and shows me that new wonders are indeed possible. It's all a matter of perspective and being in the right place at the right time and looking up.
