I leaned on the ancient stone wall of the lookout point and gazed over the sparkling water. The inlet, shaped like a teardrop, was surrounded by the craggy cliffs and gentle slopes of the Appalachian Mountains. Seagulls soared at eye level, their wings outstretched like hang gliders. Far below, tiny waves rippled on the water’s surface, glinting like crevices on a crystal. A sailboat the size of a stamp cruised along merrily.

Minuscule waves slapped against the base of the rich, ruddy cliffs. Mounds of mountain, furry with trees, were heaped around the jagged slabs like giant heads of broccoli. A thin strand of road meandered around the side like a string, and houses occasionally poked out of the slopes like curious prairie dogs.

The endless sky stretched above the pocket of water, marred only by the occasional cottony wisps of cloud drifting by. A slight breeze caressed my face with its feathery fingers. The sun warmed my face while the trees’ shadows cooled my back.

It was the definition of a perfect day.