This is the Jersey Shore in December, dressed in a stunning array of blues.
If you look closely, you may see what I saw: the black curl of a wave just before it breaks, the white flourish of the crest, the green rush, the pearly foam, the thin fringe bubbling up the sand.
And you may also hear the many voices of the sea: the roar, clap, crash, swish, wash, hush, sizzle.
You may even sense the Divine Intelligence that regulates the breath of it all.
May you lose yourself in this place, just for a moment, and find the gifts that washed ashore that day: power, balance, serenity.
And may these gifts ever glide along the soft, sandy stretches of your heart.