While this isn’t a particularly exciting photograph, it does recreate the feeling I have about calm spring days on our beach in south Florida. The huge expanse of smooth water and sky with all those varying shades of blue and aqua, the gurgle-chug noise of the Lilliputian crystal clear waves lifts my spirit to a level a few steps above spectacular. It’s akin to the feeling I had as a teenager (back in the dark ages) upon stepping over the threshold of the highest balcony at the Philadelphia Academy of Music - seeing the huge crystal chandelier hanging before my eyes, and the, to my eyes, immense cavern of the auditorium below, the gilt of the stage proscenium and columns - but more sustained. The feeling of hovering in space in both situations is exactly the same, though at the Academy of Music I was almost hovering in space as I took a step down the isle between seats on that steeply sloped balcony. The pre concert atmosphere of anticipation is not that different from my feelings as I walk down our beach because I know that Mother Nature can and will create magical music with daily variations for each walk I take on that shore.
Today the Academy is dwarfed by the larger less spectacular Kimmel Center for the Performing Arts. But the beach, all of it, east, west, north and south is, and will hopefully remain the same. It is my church, a cathedral made of sky, sand, avian and marine creatures, and of course the ocean itself. If you are a reader of this Web journal, you know about my concerns as demonstrated in The Waterworks. I write no conclusion here – just let this go, an open-ended question mark.