Perspectives: Beach Bubbles, Olympics

How many colors do these bubbles come in?  How does the sand feel as you run along this beach with bare feet in November?  What other objects drift in on the tides, perhaps flotsam and jetsom from the tsunami in Japan, or balls from fishing nets?  How many centuries have the Makah Indians walked along this beach?  Was it near here that the Japanese fishermen who were enslaved by the Makah in the 19th Century, and ultimately became the first Protestant Japanese Christians, first sighted land, when they drifted all the way from home and were shipwrecked, never to return?  Is this a picture of the Dao?  Bubble universes?  Is this the sort of environment in which RNA is supposed to have linked to form the first reproducing life on an ancient, sun-smitted, sterile Earth?  Are our lives really much longer than those of these beautiful little bubbles on the beach?  Is our world one of as many as the sands on the shore?  Does God care for us nonetheless? 

But the Olympic peninsula and the magnificently mellow Olympic National Park that this borders on are enough, most days,  without such stray thoughts, and even without the vampires that have been reported since I lived there.