Walking Ruby Beach in the mist is like walking some orphaned strand stretching out between two dream seas. Great rocks, calcified husks of ancient sea giants, loom out of the water to one side. To the other, ancient trees stand tall and blind, patiently marking the moments in a world cut loose from time.

Driftwood, bones of nightmares, twisted and deformed. Ocean waves climb over each other in a desperate bid to escape the sea. They grasp and claw at the sand but only find themselves sucked deeper into it, becoming part of the driftless shore. Below ground, slowly, they will be drawn through the pores in the earth, back into their endless cycle.

In this place of mystery, each traveler has their own private hands and revelations.

Angels, frightening in their symmetry, perch in the clouds with owl-like eyes watching.

Ruby in the mist is where the world becomes something else. We’ve left many footprints there. We’re still wandering the shores. Just like the ocean, we’re still trying to escape ourselves.

Still, the trees root ever deeper into the soil, and nothing ever, ever ends.