Tonight we sit atop a cliff overlooking the grand old Pacific. She’s a noble body of water and her name has ocean beside it. Neither lake nor pond is permitted that title. Dark green grass grows thick and lush to the edge and our old-school comfortable lawn chairs settle easily into the soft blades. It is a cool evening and we’ve remembered to tote blankets along with our other provisions—freshly baked begets, fruit, spicy cured meats, rich sharp cheddar, strawberries dipped in dark chocolate, and an old sweet dessert wine. The show is soon to begin. This performance has no leaping dancers, no baritone or alto voices, no Shakespearian speeches to arouse emotion, yet it is an ancient enactment observed hundreds of thousands of times by plant, by bird, by beast, by men and by women. As we share the simple but delicious food and wine we watch as that which enables life as we know it, slowly marches toward the sea through clouds of pink and purple, shining its golden rays as it emerges from those colored shrouds. It is as beautiful, as divine a ritual, as in any house of good and holy worship. It is one of God’s original miracles and what is most amazing, is that all we need do is spare a few moments’ observance to enjoy it. As the last of its light vanishes, we kindle the small fire we’ve built to warm us and ease us into the night. I reach and your hand joins mine, bringing smiles to us both.