The early morning air was cool. A frail breeze pushed my hair behind my head into a delicate frenzy. The sun was out and the fresh smell of the seashore lingered in the air. Just out of sight was a rocky beach. I felt at home in this quiet campground. With a burning love of God’s creation imprinted in my heart, I took my guitar up over the hill to the welcoming shore. It seemed no-one was alive except me and the Lord of lords. Peacefully, I began plucking the strings of my guitar. The sound, which rang out over the ocean waves, was pleasantly sweet. Knowing I was in the right mood, I started writing a song. The song was going well, my guitar was in tune (for the most part), and the sun smiled down to me. Suddenly, a man in a baseball cap slowly walked towards me. His crunchy tread on the rocky gravel startled me slightly, but I didn’t show it. The sound proved to me I wasn’t the only one living after all. “Good morning.” Said I, in a kind tone. “Hello,” he replied. “Are you writing your own?” I told him I was, and he asked if he could sit down in the chair across from me. I told him he could, and he watched me play my guitar and hum the song I was writing. It made me a bit uncomfortable, but I knew he was only being friendly, so I played on.
The campground around me was waking up. People walked by every few minutes. After a short time (ten or fifteen minutes) the man stood up, and said, “You have the best way to start the day.” I thanked him and he was gone. I sat there, with a smile, playing and writing for a few more minutes, then I was beckoned away from the sea-shore by my family. What an experience. I will never forget it. The breeze, the sun, the waves, the kind old man… It was all so beautiful.
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