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The Beach

Another hard day at the office awaits, and like any dedicated employee, I don my suit and grab my carry-all. I yell "Bye Hon! I'm working late today, don't wait up for me!"

Only my work day is a little different than those in the big city. You see, my 'suit' is a swimsuit, and my carry-all is packed to the brim with notebooks, suntan lotion and potato chips. I'm a writer.

Remember all those great movies where the writer is tapping away on a laptop in a rustic log cabin with a fabulous mountain view? I always wanted to be one of those glamorous writers, making my office anywhere in nature I happened to be. The only difference between those writers and myself is, I am virtually an unknown 21st century poet.

My biggest audience is on the beach, where I try out my stuff on the seagulls. They don't seem to mind listening to me carry on, as long as I offer them some potato chips. I might as well let them have the whole bag, they'll take it anyway. Once I left an unopened bag of chips on my beach towel while I took a walk along the beach, and when I came back I discovered they had punctured a hole in the bag, and were munching away like the world was their oyster.

I get most of my inspiration from the beach. It is here that I take in a stunning view of God's best handiwork - billowing clouds, crashing waves and cinnamon sugar sand.

The seagulls are standing at attention on this particular heavenly morning. They remind me of angels. Hundreds of guardian angels, keeping watch on the shore. I write furiously, trying to capture every hue and holy prayer carried in the wind.

Thank you, God. Thank you for this beautiful world You created. Thank you for providing this lovely office space for my rambling thoughts. And thank you for potato chips. Amen.