Ankyra Sound 'Cause my dad's office door's always closed but I stopped knocking

Sunset on the beach; there was nothing quite like it, that bright amber-and-gold horizon set over the vast expanse of churning water. Reverie had spent quite some time playing with Blossom, right up until the moment her daughter abruptly flopped face-down into the sand and did not move. She'd panicked, of course.
After many tears and frantic whisper-yells, Reverie had determined that Blossom had fallen asleep. Mid-stride. So she'd gathered up some leaves and arranged them far enough up the beach that the water wouldn't reach her, and laid her down to rest for awhile. She was still quite worried, of course, and checked on her every five minutes for the first hour.
Then she decided she would drive herself crazy this way, and removed herself. She kept Blossom within her line of sight, but moved to the edge of where the waves reached so that the water kissed her paws periodically. Reverie closed her eyes and let the sounds of the ocean wash over her. The birds and the waves, the distant whispering of forest life at her back. She felt the chill against her skin, the salt-laden ocean wind tangling its fingers through her fur. And all around her the world moved; the stirring air and the crashing sea, the whisper of wings in the air and tiny digging feet in the sand.
Something rushed past her ear in a flurry. Her eyes opened to a flash of gold; a gilded bird, as bright and perfect as a sunrise. Reverie let out a shaky little laugh, delighted but startled as she began to remember:
The bird. The cave. The Garden. The sun, the sun, the sun...
She didn't know what to do. Not at first. The bird flitted around her with fleeting slivers of song spilling from its beak, and for a moment she could only watch. Had she ever seen anything so beautiful? Anything so perfect? Like living art, like magic given form. And then she knew what to do.
Reverie stepped into the water and started to dance.