A Reflection in Waves and Stone

The sound of the waves rolling over the rocks, gently tumbling them over one another as the water receded back into the vast ocean, felt so symbolic to me. Fifty years of life—lessons shaping and smoothing my existence. Each rock held its own story… a perfect worry stone shaped just for my thumb, a crooked but perfect heart, a jagged edge where the water once caught on a stick. The clicking sound was mesmerizing. The rhythm, enchanting. A big swoosh of water… followed by a quieter drawing back.

This little cove we stumbled upon wasn’t part of the plan. We detoured because of my best friend’s wise whisper. She’s always had it—even when we were kids. We laugh now about all the times that quiet knowing pulled us out of sticky situations… and sometimes ones that could have changed the course of our lives.

When we reached the side of the cliff and looked down at the steep steps, we paused and met each other’s eyes.“If we go down, we have to come back up.”Let’s do it.

As we descended, I felt like a little girl stepping into a secret garden—something enchanting, magical, tucked away and held. At the bottom, there were treasures everywhere… shells, bones, rocks. My eyes darted from one to the next, wanting to pick each one up, turn it over, imagine its story, its purpose.

And then we saw it—an entire wall of hearts. So many rocks, all shaped like hearts. We tilted our heads in awe, smiling at the thought of someone carefully gathering and placing them there, one by one.

We meandered along the beach, stepping over rocks toward a nook of caves—dark and mysterious, yet carrying a playful depth.

We stood for a while, gazing out into the deep blue of the Sea of Cortez, watching the waves crash and return, before turning back.

As we retraced our steps past the wall of hearts and the scattered treasures, we gathered a few to take with us… a perfect shell for incense, another for burning sage in ceremony, a worry stone for my thumb, a pink-speckled rock.

And the climb back up… wasn’t nearly as hard as it had looked on the way down.

Maybe we were lifted—by wisdom, by spirit, by friendship… and by the treasures we carried with us.