I closed the gate to the Redwood Highway a little after four and had the beach to myself for an hour. A cool, late afternoon breeze blew down from the north. Hundreds of gulls gathered at the mouth of the creek while dozens more rafted through the narrow outlet to the sea or flittered over the booming surf. The ocean was rough and ragged, a churning white foam stretching well beyond the last rock which stood silently above the fray a half mile off shore.
I've watched sunsets countless times in my two score and six years, but I continue to be fascinated by how effortlessly the sky melds from one color to the next and how fast the sun slides into the black line of the horizon.