Sacred places are found in many unusual locations:
consecrated in a flash, by an unlooked-for moment of joy,
or sehnsucht, or pain.
One of my favorites is Sea Bright, and today the sea is particularly bright.
The sea-foam on the beach is whipping in the wind,
it lifts the lumps of foam up off the water,
and carries it further up onto the dry sand.
It sticks to my legs.
My legs are covered in a light layer of dun-colored sea foam.
I run into the water, which still retains its summer warmth,
despite the chilly breeze.
The high, sculpted waves are a wine-dark green.
They crash into the plateau of white, sea-foam water that floats between the breaking waves and the shore.
The sun is shining behind a film of gentle clouds, and a mist that lingers above the ocean.
The sun beams and the light have transformed the Jersey coast into a J.M.W. Turner painting.
The scene has become an invitatory psalm.
The waves higher than a boat, the fresh morning sky, and the sand in my hair and eyes and teeth, and my sea-foam legs, standing in the warm waters, facing the sunrise, are radiant.
As morning breaks, I look to you.