On each of us are patterns of wear that life has left on us, visible to the observant eye. I thought of that looking at these beaches on Camp Pendleton. The waves and creeks have worn wrinkles on the shore.
Another beach has its own story told by patterns, accented by more recent roads, trails, and scallop shapes in the sand at water’s edge.
Just as the different forces that shaped this beach reveal themselves in layers of time, our faces can tell stories about us. Things that happened recently, far in the past, and frequently like the crevices formed by smiles, frowns, concentration and surprise. Can noticing the patterns help us to learn and grow, or are we mere observers of forces beyond our control?