Thoughts that flowed during a timed writing exercise with my writing coach.  Memories of a life lived with love and our annual return to a shared love - camping on our favourite West coast beach:

Sandcut Beach:  humble west coast beach, cobbled, lacking sand as the name implies.  Walking along the beach creates a chorus: the crunch of rocks against backdrop of crashing waves sucking into themselves through rocks.  Pebbles tossed up then sucked back. Rough edges smoothed by an endless cycle.

Bend down to witness the beach's microcosm.  Push rock aside and a world is revealed wiggling, scurrying.  The rocks themselves diverse in shape, size, colour:  speckled white like birds' eggs, black and flat and perfect for skipping, tiny, round, orange.  Beautiful when wet.  The ocean's varnish.  Look for the magic rocks ringed with a white line.

I love emerging from forest trail into sun and surf greeted by the dead tree to the right of the trail.  It leans out towards the waves, curving gently upward with dead branches, our trail marker for our return from beach-combing.

Turn left and discover the waterfall, a broad flat creek cascades over the flat rock ledge just above beach.  There is something appealing about this gentle, flat waterfall that disappears into the beach reaching its destination under sand and rocks.  Unseen.

Turn right and find the tent sites cut into forest edge where campers gain a softer repose than on the big shore rocks.  Abandoned beach fire circles, reminders of love found and continued on this windswept beach.  Good memories returned to year after year, each year adding another layer. The ocean's action in reverse.  

Continue west down the beach and climb up the smooth boulder.  Sit on the slightly concave top, the meditation place, perfect for sun greeting mornings as mists hang low over the ocean and headlands.  Rising sun warms upturned face.  Peace drifts in as mist gently caresses thirsty conifer branches reaching for heaven.