This photo is for Carolyn and her Dad.  And me and my Dad.  And anyone and their Dad.

The time just before sunset seems as magical as the time just after.  I’ve missed the sunsets these past few days, being quiet indoors tending to recovering from The Virus.  It is good to be back outdoors, with the wind, the pelicans, the tides, and now, even, the campfires.

The state campground is suddenly full: spring break?  Warmer weather?  More employees able to open more campsites?  There are more people around, with tents and trailers and sleek shiny mobile campers and blankets and chairs and grills and kids and bikes and sand toys and surfboards.  I don’t believe in magic, yet “magical” seems like the only way to describe it.  It feels somewhat out of time, away and apart from the tragedies of Crimea and lost airplanes, of hunger and disease and corruption.  Of missing fathers and cousins.  We are but the stewards of memory, and the sun still sets.