With the roar of the rolling surf echoing in the background, an old man walked along the beach, his cane sinking into the sand with his footsteps. As his ancient eyes scanned the scene before him, the beige, wet landscape littered with rocks, pebbles, and seashells of different sizes, his eyes landed upon the glint of sunlight reflecting from a metallic object. He paused in his shuffle to reach down for the object, a tiny gold gear. Mere inches away, the surf revealed another, and then yet another, each glowing in the midday sun.
He held the small sprockets in his hand, wondering about their relevance, and the happenstance which had brought them to his attention. Having been a jeweler most of his life, the objects brought recognition to his mind. The winding wheel, the crown wheel, and the center wheel of a pocket watch lie in his wrinkled palm. While gazing at his hand, he saw another glint of sunlight upon the wet sand at his feet. Using his cane for balance, he bent his creaking knees to lift the small nub of a gold winding crown.
As he stood once again, he glanced around him; his old eyes curiously gazing more intently at the sand, the shells, and the gentle lapping tongue of the ocean as it caressed the beach. A few feet beyond, he glimpsed yet another object, larger, rounder, and more worn by the elements, just lifting from the glistening sand.
Lifting the case from the sand, he examined it. The barrel bridge and the balance bridge were both missing, which explained the loose gears in his hand. The jewels which once held them would be hidden somewhere in the beach sand or the ocean floor. The Hunter case which previously protected the clear sapphire crystal, as well as the crystal and the bezel which held it in place had disappeared as well. The dial and the chapter ring were scarred with wear. Still, he could tell by the design, the look, the feel, and the order, that the instrument had been lovingly and delicately made. He imagined the work which had gone into cutting, shaping, and molding each part. He smiled as he remembered his work, the joy he got from holding such an item in his hand. Seeing the watch, left him an image of the craftsman, the watch maker, the creator.
He stared once again a the pieces of the watch in his hand, all the while his mind centered on the maker. He considered the age, the work, and the materials. Not once would he have imagined that such a fine instrument would have assembled itself. Admiration built in his mind as he surveyed the work.
His eyes lifted from his palm, scanning the world around him. The blue sky, littered with puffy white clouds. A sky which could turn in a day and send down rain to replenish the sea, and nourish the land, or a storm which would rage, churning and tossing the waters, stirring the life in the ocean. He listened to the waves and watched how they rolled with a rhythm of their own, like the ticking of a watch. He marveled at the tide, which could be timed with the movements of the moon. He felt the warmth of the sun upon his skin, heating his body as well as the earth. He filled his lungs with the sea air; an act which carried oxygen into his bloodstream, circulating throughout his body, a body which was breaking down with age, and which, if left to nature, would also feed the earth.
As he glanced back a the watch, a chuckle lifted from within. Imagine, having greater faith in the creator of a watch, than in the Creator of a well designed world.
