I knew about the high surf warning before I came to the coast yesterday. The high tide seems higher. The low tide still crashes to the rip-rap retaining walls and piles of driftwood. The sound of the waves, the churned surf, the traffic on the rain-wet highway all blur together with the wind. The roar of it blots out the sound of my tinnitus.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
There are no small boat fisherman out on Siltez Bay this morning. No fisherman standing along the edge of the beach at the mouth of the channel. No one wading out to dig for shellfish.
… I never imagined so many shades of gray! I’d have happily sat at the window of my hotel room thinking about painting and reflecting on life, meaning, and purpose, pretty much forever, except there was only decaffeinated coffee in my room, and hours yet before housekeeping would show up for work. So I ventured down to Taft, to a new-ish cafe, well-located right at the edge of the parking favored by fisherman, Pioneer Joe’s. They make an excellent cup of coffee.
No regrets at all, as I sit sipping my coffee at a nearby park on the edge of the bay, watching huge driftwood logs bobbing in the current, as if they weigh nothing.
…So many metaphors…
Coffee first. Painting later. Enjoying each moment. At some point I’ll begin again, surely, but for now this moment is completely enough.
