A fisher casts his line into the water at the edge of Balboa Pier. When you pier-fish, you're standing on a large, safe structure, but you're already well out to sea. You see the sun glinting off the mellow waves. You hear the whooshing of the lapping waves and the wind. You smell the salty air and your catch. And you have nothing to do but wait, but it's a good wait, because if you stand there long enough you're bound to catch some good fish.

Dinan, France

You get lost in the narrow cobblestone streets that wind around the hillside, branching out at interesting angles. You stroll under archways that lead to more twisting paths. You climb up a hill and down another. Then you turn a corner and, there before you, lies the green, river-sliced valley.

Pagosa Springs, Colorado

We walked from one natural hot springs tub to another, testing the different temperatures and views. The pools overlook the San Juan River, and one sits in the middle of a small lake, reached by a footbridge. A thin layer of water covers the boards of the bridge, and steam rises off the lake. The setting is mystical, but as I walked across, noisy human thoughts crept up. Still, the environment compelled me to at least try to let them go.

Highlands Street Fair, Denver

You stroll down the main passageway of a street fair flanked with stalls. The sun is blazing, and your skin is sticky with sweat. At the far end a band plays, and the music joins together with the shouts, laughter, and conversations of festival goers. You catch the scent of turkey legs, sugary cakes, and beer. In the stalls, you see straw hats; mannequins in bright shirts; plaster arms draped in silver bracelets; and, in one, jewel-toned wind spinners hanging at various heights. On this hot summer day, they barely move. But they cause you to stop: to take in the various shapes, the rings within rings, the translucent wall of color.

Ka'ena Point, Hawaii

Exploring the smoky-hued coastline at Ka'ena Point, I feel caught between two worlds. The day is over and night is ahead. The ocean spreads out to one side, and to the other is land—the beach, roads, and, further on, buildings. I step from jagged rock to spongy sand, through water, and around tide pools that crawl with creatures, the waves shush-shushing. Up ahead, a fisherman stares out to sea, uninterested in us, seemingly transfixed.

Kauai Cave

After a vigorous hike to a hidden beach, we find the perfect spot to rest and shake off the grainy sand that's stuck to our clothes and salty skin. I have just enough energy to wish we could explore the little watery cave. I imagine us on a wooden boat, leaving the bright shore behind and disappearing into a murky green world. The farther we oared, the darker and more primeval it would become. Instead, with one last look at the cave, I climb back into the car and we drive through sunlight and fresh air to our hotel.

Cemetery Pere Lachaise

We navigate the tree-lined pathways of Cemetery Père Lachaise. The quiet, the foliage, and the unstudied orderliness promote a sense of peacefulness, but the cemetery also gives rise to another feeling, like reverence or maybe fear. We arrive at the grave of the French writer Honoré de Balzac, surrounded by a wrought-iron fence. A lone, dying rose is resting against it. Though I'm only vaguely familiar with Balzac's work, I feel touched by his genius, just as I feel touched by his mortality.