The sky is a flat blue, and a determined breeze blows off the Gulf of Mexico, directly in my face.

I settle down in my beach chair and take a deep breath, the air is wet, salty and warm.   I take another breath and size up my surroundings.    First, I look at the sun.    In a highly scientific manner I hold up my right index finger in front of my eye and measure the sun's distance from the horizon.    It is now about half the length of my finger from the sun.

With my sunglasses off, the sun is a haze of blinding light, impossible to look at directly.    With sunglasses on, it becomes a more concentrated, yellow sphere.    The gulf is brackish green, full of tumbling waves born far away.    The waves crash hard against the beach, foaming white.

I realize, even as I am being amused by the antics of the birds, that just beyond my thought is a rhythmic background music.    The crashing waves sigh and tumble, as if the ocean itself is breathing.    I've been here about 10 minutes, and already my body has relaxed and my heart rate has slowed ... all this watching and listening has begun to have its desired effect.

The sun is about one-third of my index finger from the sea.    At this point I begin to feel the sun move, or rather, feel the Earth spin.    All my senses are heightened ... I feel the sea breeze slapping against my skin.    The sun, though lower now and less bright, still feels warm on my face.    The waves, of course, continue their song.