After enjoying Colonial Williamsburg, we headed out to the ginormous sandbar known as The Outer Banks. I've been there before, at the northern end. The tourists flock to that end - it is, after all, the part of The Banks that is actually connected to the mainland by a couple of bridges. We toured Kitty Hawk, amazed by how NOT far the original flights of Orville and Wilbur were in reality!
Instead of going north, we went south to Rodanthe. The houses and shops got fewer and farther between, and mile after mile of sand dunes and sound views rolled by, until we arrived at our campground. We had rented a one-room cabin, thinking that setting up a tent on a treeless sandbar in southern state might not be the best of fun for vacation. Since the cabin had an air conditioner and the temp was well over 90 it turned out to be a good call. Staying in a place where I could hear the ocean behind me while I washed dishes to the sunset over the Pamlico Sound was amazing. The distance between the ocean beach an the shore of the sound was about 100 yards, and we were 17 miles offshore. But the most amazing thing was the darkness.
We are so accustomed to background light that we can scarcely imagine not having any. But at sunset, the only lights were from campfires and a few local homes. And when the locals go to bed....nothing.
I sat on the beach, bathed in starlight. Overhead, the milky way glowed, horizon to horizon. Stars stretched down to touch the water, a million miles away. Despite the fact that there was no moon, I could clearly see my star shadow, floating at my feet.
Some moments contain eternal magic. However brief they are in reality, in the heart and memory they are windows into the soul of God, and they never fade.