Clam-Strewn Sandbars

So in my mind when I think of clam-strewn sandbars, my mind thinks of New England and baking clams on the beach (not that I've ever actually done that). And it sees images like this:

But my experience with beaches is more Georgia (where I was born and grew up) and Florida.
MY most fond memories of beaches look more like this:

More of the hauntingly and achingly beautiful.

But the most beautiful I ever remember the beach being was when I was about 12 or 13. I was generally ostracized by every group imaginable. Even the church choir with whom I was on a weekend tour. We did a performance in Panama City. And before we left the next morning, I took a quick, almost predawn, walk on the beach. I remember the wind blowing my hair, the smell of the salt water and utter emptiness of the beach at that time of morning. It looked more like this:

But mostly this one:

The sun was a little orange ball  just beginning to rise and I think it was the first time that I realized that the world was a whole lot bigger than the microcosm in which I lived.