This is from a series of photos I thought I had lost.  They mysteriously reappeared on an SD card I happened to pop in my camera a few days ago.  I'm glad, too.  It was a beautiful night, and I was alone on the beach soaking in the uncharacteristically chilly August air.  I noticed this couple walking slowly, hand in hand, on the very edge of the water, and I thought for a moment that I was inside a movie. 

And the following is my post on Shutter Sisters today:

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Once in a great while, I find myself with some free time, in my car, with my camera, and no husband or child to direct my path.  It's usually at night after I've met with friends.  If the stars align just right and the weather cooperates, I more likely than not will feel a magnetic pull to a certain beach about a mile east of our home.

I have a history with the beaches of Chicago's Northside at night.  It's where I've gone on so many other nights during a particularly tumultuous time in my life.  The sound of the waves gently lapping against the shore, again and again, creates a cadence so calming and comforting to me, a sound so primally familiar like the sounds of the womb.  Lake Michigan stretches as far as the eye can see, a black expanse holding up an equally black sky, the sequins of stars dimly visible in the urban haze.  The wind whips my hair to an fro, and I hug myself for warmth, legs dangling over the breakwater.  I breathe deeply and slowly and let the universe wash over me with all the love and tenderness and wisdom I'm able to hold in my empty hands. 

I often feel like I need to push myself out of my comfort zone, to do something Fresh!  Original!  Conceptual!  Challenging!  Scary!  It's an important learning experience, for sure, to be able to step out into unknown territory.  Lately, however, I am realizing the gift of knowing where my comfort lies, and feeling free to return there to rest and wallow in the contentedness of familiarity, whether it's simply listening to an old 80's song or watching my daughter play.  This little beach at night is a symbol of that familiar place within me, and I return to it as often as I can.