PIER AT TWILIGHT

MARILYN JONES,—CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS

ONE LATE-WINTER AFTERNOON sliding gracefully toward twilight, a friend and I walked along the shoreline of Cape Cod's Little Pleasant Bay. I could imagine this tranquil scene in the next few months, filling like a movie screen with images of children jumping off the pier, the sound of their happy shrieks, and the low bass rumble of speedboats spreading out across the water.

That day, however, the scene, which could have felt empty and bare, I realized, was actually alive—the stillness punctuated by the occasional cry of a duck, a seagull coasting aloft, winging effortlessly across the sky, which continuously drenched the water in a changing palette of rose and violet hues.

I couldn't help but think of several of the synonyms for God in Science and Health, including Soul, which I saw in the natural elements; and Mind, Principle, and Love reflected in the human constructs: the solid grounding of the pier pilings, the strength and rudimentary engineering of the built structures on either shore. God truly is in the details, and as I contemplated the negative space of sky and water, I saw how this seeming spare canvas was really filled—actually brimming—with richness. Color, serenity, and almost-imperceptible movement—the eternal glory of God.