Point Wilson just after dawn: it’s oddly warm and still on the bay, while gulls wake the day. The ferry glides off into the fog, and the sun slices through clouds and shimmers the silver waters. Then cotton batting separates to reveal blue quilted sky. Comic crows scavenge for breakfast in the tide’s leavings, and the rising sun stripes the pewter bay with bands of gold. The night’s work is over for the lighthouse, but it sends its red-then-white beacon across the waters anyway, as the curve of this beach holds me in its embrace. I am safe here, and my heart opens to the wholeness of the day. Circling gulls make a ruckus near the dock and a heron adds her voice to the gentle touch of the bay upon the sand and upon my soul.
Continue reading...20. October 2009
The arrival of fall lures me away on a day trip by ferry from Port Townsend to Fidalgo Island. Waiting to depart, I lean over the railing on the upper deck and watch blasé gulls sleeping on pilings below, despite the roar of the massive engine. My favorite thing is to be in the water [...]
Continue reading...8. July 2009
Sun flirts through the fog—tantalyzing, teasing of a July day at the beach. The abandoned pier looms as a ghostly presence from the past—it could be a hundred years ago and a tall-masted schooner might be edging in through the murkiness, eager to make landfall after an ardurous trip down the Strait. White crowned sparrows twit about hoping for a handout, while swallows rise and fall, swoop and glide, up and down the beach, mimicing the gentle rhythm of the waves. Robins scour the high beach, dining on insects in the silvering driftwood, and crows discuss the morning from fir tops on the bluff. Fog horns and the blare of a huge ship passing by unseen punctuate the rich texture of birdsong.
Continue reading...19. June 2009
A young couple at the far curve of Crescent Bay toss kites into the morning breeze off the Strait. The bright shapes zoom aloft like gargantuan tropical birds. So what’s the appeal of flying kites? Is it delight in watching something earthbound improbably lift into the air? Is it holding onto the tether, hoping to understand by the gaudy bird’s tugging the essence of flight?
Continue reading...6. June 2009
It’s a foggy, gray day, but because tomorrow is the full moon, there’s a minus tide (extra low) which makes for an especially fabulous beach walk. So my trusty dog and I set out this morning to see what we could see that we don’t normally see. It didn’t take long to find something special. I was specifically looking for something to inspire a full moon post, so it was perfect that I encountered a living moon snail. Until now, I have only found the bleached empty shells, never a live one. Though that isn’t exactly true, because last year I brought home a lovely white specimen and left it on my bathroom counter. The next day I was very started to see a hermit crab edging out of it. (I promptly whisked the crab outside and back to the beach!) The living snails are much more colorful and exciting to meet.
Continue reading...12. May 2009
There must be dozens like it on that mile swath of pale sand, but my gaze lands on this one and it sings to me. A slender silvered branch polished smooth by its tidal ride, it’s about four feet long, though it would measure much longer if it could be straightened. But that’s the point. My sinuous stick got this way by adapting to its environment. Each curve of its growth is a reaction to sun or wind or impediment. It survived, for a time at least, by being flexible. And even in death, it still is.
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7. November 2009
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