Anatomy of a Sunset


I’ve got a lot to say about Cambria and Paso Robles. I would have said it all sooner, but there was an incident with egg whites and a mouse tracker pad and, well, last week my laptop was not interested in playing ball.

So to start somewhat at the beginning but also at the end. This was a quick trip, just two nights. We stayed at the Fireside Inn on Moonstone Beach in Cambria. It’s a charming little place just across the street from the ocean. Every room comes with a wee patio so you can sit outside and catch a glimpse of the sea. It had all the necessities… heated pool and hot tub, breakfast, a view. We didn’t spend a whole lot of time in the hotel itself but it was a happy spot.

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The last evening that we were there, though, there was a strong pull and determination to head on over to the ocean and watch the sunset. I wanted very badly to play with the light and it was just peaceful. We spent an hour walking up and down the shore, listening to the waves, feeling both the fullness and the emptiness of the sea and sky. It was fun and peaceful and filling.



I forget sometimes to stop and watch the Sunset. Life is intermittently busy and not. I find myself sometimes with time on my hands that I struggle to fill with meaning. And I forget that there are sunsets and I should stop, breathe, watch them. This is why sometimes I take pictures. Because when I look back I can see that I had something gorgeous in the palm of my hand and if I concentrate, I can see it, smell it, feel it all over again. Sunset can be an anchor, not one that weighs you down, but one that steadies and stabilizes. I should probably stop and feel one more often.