when I was a kid and my grandfather wanted me to shut up, he would insist that unless we were very quiet, we would not hear the sizzle when the sun slipped into the sea at sunset.

Sometimes I forget the heat and stop bitching about the tourists and traffic and overdevelopment long enough to feel privileged to live here at the edge of the coast, where the sun slides into the sea every evening.

Here at the beach, folks customarily gather just before sunset. Sometimes it's a smattering of people up and down the beach, pausing for a moment. I like that best. Sometimes it's larger groups, arriving purposefully, beach chairs and cameras in hand. I like watching the older folks who casually stroll the sand hand in hand and I wonder if my beloved and I will do that when we are old. They slow and look over their shoulders at the sky as it flows from purple to orange to pink and they smile. Sometimes I tell myself they are smiling sadly or wistfully. But I'm probably reading more into it than there is.

A pod of dolphins is almost always heading southward past the beach at the end of the day and if we're very lucky, they will drift close to the shore for a spell as they feed and play. It's always such a gift, that glimpse of glistening fin silently slipping in and out of the water.

And the sunsets...always so gorgeous, no matter the weather. Once colors recede and darkness has fluttered down over the beach, blanketing it in darkness, the people gathered on the beach always applaud, be they locals or tourists. Schmoopie asked me once why we were clapping. We're thanking, I told her. Who? Who are we thanking? She asked. All of it, I said. All of it.