A Posse of Birds
What caught my eye first was a group of birds standing together at the edge of the water — seven of them, lined up and facing the sea as the small waves rolled in. They felt like a little posse, all watching the same horizon, steady and alert.
Just beyond them — maybe ten or fifteen feet inland — one solitary, smaller bird was walking with purpose in the opposite direction, heading away from the water. There was something quietly charming about that contrast: the group looking outward, the lone bird intent on its own path.
The foreground sand was that familiar texture I always notice — like soft putty before it gets wet. Then the water darkens it, smooths it, and rocks back toward the shore again. Everything in the frame felt balanced and intentional, even though it was constantly moving.
The Majesty of the Seashore
This scene felt bigger — more dramatic.
In the foreground, the beach is wet and smooth, almost sculpted. Beyond that, thick, frothy water rolls toward the shore, pushed by a steady breeze. It’s clear the wind had picked up today — not wild, but strong enough to give the waves presence and rhythm.
Farther out, the water shifts to a beautiful green-azure tone, and above it the sky deepens into a darker blue, as if a storm might be considering its options. There’s a quiet power in moments like this — not threatening, just confident. The kind of majesty the seashore shows when it doesn’t need to perform.


What Lies Below
This last image is harder to explain — and that’s exactly why I love it.
In the distance, the sky is blue with wispy white clouds. Below that, the water turns green. But right in the foreground there’s something unexpected — a soft, fuzzy brown shape beneath the surface, with sparkles of reflected sunlight dancing above it and just beyond it.
It almost feels cinematic — not scary, but mysterious. Like you’re looking at something that belongs to another world, something just below the surface that you don’t fully understand yet. It reminded me of those moments in films where the ocean hints that it holds far more than we can see.
These are the kinds of scenes I return to again and again — movement, reflection, quiet drama, and moments that feel small but somehow expansive at the same time. The beach shows me new combinations every day, even when the elements are familiar.
– Michelle



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