It was a beautiful summer evening. The sun’s slow migration toward the horizon caused the sky to explode in brilliant red, orange and purple hues as the day wound to an end. The wind blew in off the ocean, carrying with it a light mist as the water crashed down on the rocks lining the beach. In the distance, the seals that had made this beach and rock alcove their home barked out in symphony, as if bidding the day a fond goodbye.

The seals were not the only ones on the beach that early evening. A lone figure was standing on the beach, looking out onto the ocean. She was dressed in a long white dress, a dress whose material was of such a lightweight that it danced in unison with the breeze. She was standing in front of a canvas perched on an easel. On the easel was her latest creation, a representation of the landscape that was playing out in front of her, one that was evolving with every passing minute as day gave way to night.

She was an older woman, but yet still very beautiful with long flowing raven colored hair.  Her years were shown through the gray that mixed in well, giving her a distinguished look.  She refused to color her hair, wearing it proud as a symbol of the years passed that she survived.  She stepped away from her painting and walked down to the surf to wash the traces of paint from her hands.  As she washed her hands, she looked down at them, admiring the shape they were in.  Although she still looked good for her age, the never-ending march of time was taking its toll slowly. Her reflection in the water reminded her of that.

She slowly walked back to her painting site and started packing her things. As she went to load her brushes and paints back into her duffel bag, she noticed a magazine laying on the bottom of the bag that she had thrown in there earlier.  She put her supplies down and pulled the magazine from the bag. On the cover of it was a picture of Bette Porter shaking hands with a college president. She admired the picture and thought how beautiful Bette was as she slowly traced the outline of Bette’s face with her finger.

She flipped the magazine open and found the article about Bette. The broad headline at the top read, “Bette Porter leaves the gallery and heads for the classroom.” The article was about the appointment of Bette Porter to Dean of the College of Arts for a well-known college.  Making no difference to her, the woman quickly skimmed over the history of the college uninterested, until her eyes caught the beginning of the discussion on Bette.

She admired the pictures of Bette for a few more minutes and then slowly closed the magazine. She made a mental note to reread the article later when she arrived at home. She put the magazine back in her bag and piled her supplies on top of it.  She chuckled at the symbolism of it all and zipped her bag up quickly.

As she walked away from the spot she had been painting at, she took the path along the water taking in the last lit moments of the day.  She knew what she had to do, or actually, wanted to do. Her life was going to change drastically very soon. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for it, but knew that she may never be ready. She had to do it now.

As she made her way along the beach, she took a moment to look behind her. She noticed that her footprints had been washed away by the tide. She stopped and turned back along her path. The irony of the missing footprints was not lost on her. It seemed like every time she walked into someone’s life she ended up disappearing. Not this time she thought. It would be different this time. It had to be different.

She looked into the sky and admired the purple colored clouds as they slowly journeyed across the darkening sky.

“It will be different,” she said.

She gently wiped away the tear that had started to form in the corner of her eye. She let out a long sigh, turned, and slowly continued her journey home.