We scrambled down to the end of the road on Saltspring Island to take in the Sunset at Southey Point. I’m not sure how the potholes on the rocks formed. It may have been gas bubbles in the lava from the ancient volcano that sculpted this landscape, so long ago. It may have been smooth pockets hewn from the rock over the years, centuries, and millennia of the same ocean water, coming and going, coming and going. On this night, this sunset was one of a near infinite number of sunsets that came before and would still come after. This sunset couldn’t belong to me any more than it could belong to anyone; but I was there, that night, and it felt like my own.