One of the beaches is called Cape Lookout but I’m not sure what to look out for. All I see is ocean. Some would say endless in its vastness.
The ocean is not endless. Thousands of miles west of here are the Kuril Islands. Russia and Japan, China, Mongolia, Kazakhstan. Travel further west and there is all of Europe and then the Atlantic. Another three thousand miles of America and I see myself. There I stand on the beach looking at my own back.
I am looking into tomorrow.
Disputed and distant, the world seems very far away when your toes are digging into warm sand.
The Washington-Oregon coast is marked by monoliths, massive rocks jutting up from the sea, the inexplicably tough remnants of an older, more distant coast. Gravestones for dead titans.
The signs of life here are more like memories. Scarred, broken shells whisper of crashing waves; the carcasses of sand dollars tell tales of searing sunshine, brittle old age, and the strong hands of cruel children. Mussels, stood on end and pushed into the pulverized remains of a millennia of erosion, serve as a reminder that being monolithic has nothing to do with size.
Standing on a beach gives you perspective.
Beside the ocean, you are minuscule. Atop the sand, a giant.