From the synchronicity of contrasts can emerge strange beauty.

Such was my experience, years ago, while weekending at Cannon Beach, in northwest Oregon. It was July, mid-morning, the sun brilliancing the cloudless sky, and ocean breezes enlivening giant evergreens cascading to the warm sands behind me.

I paused to relish the immensity of this color-world tingling every cell in my body, then trekked toward the ocean, with its basalt Haystack Rock, two hundred and thirty-five feet tall, a haven for sea birds.

Again, I stopped breathless, knowing this monolith had been formed by lava flows emanating from the Blue Mountains and Columbia basin about sixteen million years ago. I blinked, hard, adjusted my sunglasses, and sat down. This was too much.

Then, several yards from me skittered sandpipers, soft waves teasing their clawed feet as their beaks searched for small invertebrates beneath wet sands. More joined them, flitting their small brown-white speckled wings.

The synchronicity of that natural setting contrasted with the fragile sandpipers and spoke of Creator God, in a new way.