From Sea to Shining Sea

Having never seen the Pacific Ocean, it was definitely one of the items on the bucket list.  I flew into Phoenix, Arizona and then traveled by automobile to the west coast.  The scenery in the southern part of the South West is mesmerizing.  The desert, in all its vastness, is an amazing thing to see.  Palm trees in the distance are a signal that humans occupy a spot in the otherwise arid landscape.  Outcroppings of jagged rocky mountains break up the monotony of the flatness of this place.  The heat is searing.  One small town has the sea level marked on their water tower.  We were well below it, leaving one to wonder if, at sometime, eons ago, this too was once an ocean floor.  

One thing about traveling from east to west is how very quickly the scenery can change.  It is almost as fast as walking from one room in a house to another.  This very thing happened as we approached the California border.  Suddenly, the flat desert turned into sand.  We were driving through the Imperial Sand Dunes.  Never had I seen so much sand in my life.  It looked exactly like something out of a movie seen and I thought surely, a camel would appear over the top of one of the dunes at any moment.  The dunes are created by the wind and the sand is said to be from an ancient lake.  All this sand stretches for nearly forty miles in a south east to north west direction, but is only about 5 miles across at its widest points.  I was left in awe to have been able to witness such a massive force of nature.

Then, the terrain began to rise.  We climbed higher and higher through mountains strewn with megalithic boulders.  Hundreds of thousands of huge stones that looked as though they had been dropped there, for some good reason and then forgotten.  The energy of this place was magnificent and could be felt even as we drove with a throng of other drivers all in a hurry to reach their destination. 

As the altitude changed, so did the temperature and the 115 degrees of the desert was replaced with mid 70's and a cool breeze.  As we drove closer to the coast, the scenery changed again, the landscape dropped off on our left, to reveal the blue water of the Pacific Ocean.  

I had been warned that the Pacific was much harsher than the Atlantic.  Its water was shockingly cold and the waves were indeed strong and fast.  They not only washed up shards of shells that had been tossed to and fro for a millennia, but rocks as well.  Not just small rocks, rocks as big as soft balls, polished smooth by the constant motion of water and sand.  One of those rocks, looking like a spotted walrus, sits silently on my desk, ever listening, but gives no advice, nor tells no tales of its hidden, but surely, exciting past.

Fast forward five weeks and I find myself standing quietly, looking at the Atlantic Ocean.  I whisper to her, "Hello, my old friend." She answers me by tossing her foam capped grey green waves my direction, gently touching the tips of my toes.  Her water is inviting and warm.  I stare out across her hidden depths, I gaze down the shoreline to a point far in the distance.  I wonder, again in awe, the stories the earth could tell.  Maybe it is telling me now.  Telling me how blessed I am to go from sea to shining sea.