Walking along the tan sands on the beach at Longboat Key yesterday, I felt the gentle breeze and the warming temperature that had just barely pushed aside the morning chill. I noticed the sun, about half-way on its journey toward noon. Its rays bounced off the softly breaking waves, which had created a mini-tide pool in which the Sandpipers alternatively danced and bathed. The outgoing tide had left fabric ripples in the sand, sculpted as if Rodin had chosen to create hundreds of overlapping satin sheets in translucent marble. It was a perfect moment, but it would not last. I wished I could have stopped time.
Some experiences are like that. I don't want them to end. I don't want them to go away. I want to savor them, to freeze time because of the lift in my spirit, the sense that I am, in those moments, somehow magically transported to a place that is as close to heaven on earth as earth can ever be.