There’s something about walking through a coastal forest when the sun starts slipping down. The light gets thicker, almost syrupy, and it settles on every pine needle like it knows exactly what it’s doing. The trees suddenly show their textures that were invisible just an hour before. Rough bark, soft moss, the tiny lines that have been there for decades. Even the shadows grow braver and stretch across the path as if they want to walk along with you.
I always enjoy these quiet moments. You hear the sea long before you see it, a low and steady sound that reminds you that daylight is running out. Between the trunks, you catch warm flashes of orange light. It feels like the forest is holding the last sun of the day and letting it drip through in small pieces.
Sometimes the main objects are just the rocks by the water. They look calm at first, but the waves hit them with sharp energy and the shadows there are harsher, more direct. It’s a nice contrast. The forest is gentle while the shore is loud. Both feel alive in their own way.
I like these walks because nothing special needs to happen. You just keep going, step after step, letting the light change around you. A simple end of the day, but it always feels like a small reward.
Stay blessed