Power hour

AKA the golden hour.

In case you haven't noticed—I'm a sucker for the sun.

The morning sun tickles me pink & the evening's glow makes me swoon.

After a quick trip into Westerly, RI yesterday, naturally I swung down by my beloved homeland, 

Watch Hill.

After I marched up that sandy dune I know

oh too well—

two decades of hiking it after all—I reach the mound's zenith.

To me, this is the best view in the house. 

I was transported straight to summer-mode.

I turned around and I saw my beach town below...

The sun worshipers venturing off their frying pans (or beach towels) just for a minute to kick back a cold one or browse around the shops.

The harbor zipping with boats coming to and fro, silently gliding around each other.

I turn around, and I had an endless view of the Ocean. 

I can spy the tip of one sandy point to the next—with the lighthouse jutting out in-between. 

I found myself free after a long day's work—having left my shoes in the shop, the only thing between me and bliss was, well, nothing.

The sand under my toes—bliss.

The low setting sun making the town appear trimmed in gold—bliss.

The sand taking on a new color and a softer feel like it's straight from the Sahara—bliss.

This is where I can release.

This is the spot that I come to whenever I need to stand in awe.

Whenever I need to be reminded that I have a beautiful creator who is in control of my life.

This spot—regardless of the 20-degree wind at this time of year—is where I find

my joy.

If I'm ever told to "imagine yourself in your favorite place"—I climb that sandy dune and come right up here.