For the delicate dance of black-eyed susans in the morning sun. For the kids running from the waves, shrieking in delight. For the spotless blue sky stretched wide and untouchable. For the slender sea oats bowing slightly. For the patches of clover that cool bare feet. For the physical ability to clip my toenails. For the knowing of the luxury of clipping my toenails. For the flat sea and her quietly lapping waves. For the lovers wading out far from the beach, wrapping their arms and legs together like tangled seaweed, bobbing face-to-face. For the words spoken secretly between them. For crushed ice on hot days. For nights cool enough to keep all of the windows open. For the way pain leads to reckoning. For the fishermen standing in waist-deep water since dawn’s first light. For the writers and poets and painters and preachers who make this magnificent and terrifying world into tinier, bite-sized pieces. For the shape of seagulls hovering in flight. For fish spit from the sea and writhing on the shore, flickering silver in their final moments. For the odd shapes of egrets and herons. For the end of chasing: excitement, attention, sexiness, and change. For the elderly couple slowly meandering down the shoreline. For my broad and unfeminine feet. For my family’s relentless reassurance. For neatly packed leftovers placed in the fridge. For sorrow. For the dream-world. For the knowing of how little I know. For the endless places I will never go, things I will never see. For the enormity of God, whose glory is only meagerly hinted at by the beauty of these creations. For the sound of footsteps behind me. For the man in headphones who drags a metal wand, grumbling and searching for buried treasure.