Archives for posts with tag: wind and waves

Why do I keep coming back to this place? Surely it isn’t just convenience, ritual, or nostalgia? (I mean… but it could be though…)

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I think about it for a long while, maybe instead of the thoughts I may have thought brought me here. Too long, maybe, between chapters of “A Canticle for Leibowitz”, which I was finishing, and pages of “The Conspiracy Against The Human Race “, which I am only just beginning, both of which feel significant and well-timed. Cycles and patterns in life and living occur often in this mortal experience. I watch the waves of the ebb tide reach the shore, and return to cross and mingle with the next row coming in. It is late afternoon.

Waves against a rocky shore.

I consider the phenomenon of the double slit experiment, and of watching the ripples of water expanding out from a stone cast into the shallow water at the edge of my grandfather’s pier on Weems Creek on a summer morning. Interference patterns fascinate me endlessly. Interference is a subtle thing, natural and irresistible, and perhaps that is why I come to this place, to listen to sea breezes whisper truths that might escape my awareness in the busy-ness of life, as I contemplate the patterns in the waves as they reach the shore?

Sometimes I just need quiet and solitude – some time alone to “hear myself think”. I have been needing it so much lately, I guess, that any effort to do something else has been met with a feeling of profound discontent, and a sense of resisting what is needful, as if I were interfering with my own sense of purpose. What feels useful and right is to sit gazing out at the sea, or to relax with a coffee by the fire. My initial reluctance to fully yield to “wasting my time” on nothing more (or less) than my own thoughts quickly passed once I yielded to it without reservation (or interference).

I sit with my thoughts. That is, after all, what I come here for. What I came here for this time, too.

The medium brown strands of my hair fall in waves down my bosom. There’s not much gray. The auburn highlights sparkle where the afternoon sun reaches me through the window, hinting at red-headed-ness in my ancestry. One notable indulgence on this trip will be a long overdue haircut with a stylist I really like. I didn’t plan ahead, and I am grateful she was willing to make an appointment for me on a Sunday morning, just before I return home.

… Shit. I miss my Traveling Partner. The poignant feeling of loss and absence strikes me hard, abruptly. Yeah… I come here alone also to escape the subtle interference patterns of love, too. It’s a bit harder to focus on me when my heart is focused on my beloved. Here, for a couple of days, my thoughts are truly my own, entirely. At home, and this is not a criticism, my thoughts and the very fabric of my life is woven and intertwined with his. Every thread connects the two of us. My heart shifts gears now, from missing him to feeling incredibly loved. His love gives me ample room to step away, care for myself, and return more whole and more capable, and more able to partner with him in this life we share. That’s so beautiful…

I smile and set aside writing for some other moment, and return to my thoughts.

(Some time later)

My thoughts became, at some point, an unexpected nap listening to the waves through the open window. I woke, soon enough to think about some dinner and a bit more reading. I exchange welcome words with my beloved. He misses me. I am missing him too. Tomorrow is soon, and I’m looking forward to his embrace when I get home.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sit in the evening light, watching the day dwindle away to night. Tomorrow I’ll begin again.

I am sipping a really terrible coffee, looking out over the ocean at low tide. Funny, I’m in the room right next to the room I had on my last visit here…but the view is diminished (one window instead of three side-by-side), and the coffee is terrible. My results vary. Yours will, too, most likely. It’s a very human experience.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

Low tide, sunrise, western horizon.

I’m still drinking the coffee, as terrible as it is. I’ll go out for better, later, but for now this will do. I am still enjoying the view from this room. It’s beautiful. No complaints, and no need to journey elsewhere to see the sea. Surely, I’ll see more, and from other viewpoints, later today, but for now this is quite enough. This room is somehow smaller than the one next door (and no kitchenette, just a coffee machine and a mini-fridge). Doesn’t much matter; I’m not here about the amenities, I’m here to relax with my thoughts and reset myself, my thinking, and my approach to the day-to-day, hoping to come home feeling refreshed and energized, and somehow more myself than when I got here.

…Will that work? Maybe? It has before…

Here on the seashore I feel my Dear Friend’s presence and my Granny’s. Both women loved coastal places. Whenever I was low, talking with my Granny on the phone from some distant place, she would say “You should come to the shore, Sweetie, and take a rest from all that. It’s just noise in your head. Come listen to the birds, and feel the breeze on the marsh. We’ll take a drive into town and have crab cakes.” I’d often laugh, just feeling relieved to be heard. I couldn’t go as often as I would have liked, but on those occasions that I did, it saved me.

I sip my terrible cup of coffee, marveling at just how really awful it is. The morning sun begins to light up the distant clouds, high in the sky. Beautiful. A seagull stands on the bit of ground between the window and the straight drop to the beach, and looks into the window at me. The ocean is a sleek polished aluminum gray, breaking on the rocky beach in waves of white foam, shining with reflected light. I could sit at this window and watch this views for many uninterrupted hours – even with this gull standing there watching me, as if expecting I might toss some tasty morsel his way. It is windy today (yesterday, too), and it’s expected to be rainy, too. I don’t even mind. Storms make for dramatic skies, and rain means a good night’s sleep (for me).

I sigh to myself. This coffee is even worse once it’s begun to go cold. I chuckle to myself. It’s a good indication that it’s time to begin again, perhaps? The tide is as its lowest, and the tide pools here are something special. My clothes are already laid out. A walk on the beach, then a proper cup of coffee sounds like a lovely start to the day. I let go of my expectations; there is no sense in clinging to what I do not yet know. I already know that change is, and that my results may vary. I’m walking my own path, and that’s enough for this moment right here, now.

I finish this coffee, and think kisses at my Traveling Partner. He’s having his own experience – I hope it is a good one.

It is evening. Between sunset and nightfall.

There’s something about the quality of the light in the evening.

Breathe. Exhale. Relax. Stop – or, at least pause. Breathe in the evening calm. Exhale and embrace the next moment. Moments are so fleeting.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I sit for a pleasant little while in the stillness between chapters of The Stand. Will I finish it? Maybe. Maybe not. I’m enjoying the time spent reading, carried off to some other place, although I’m definitely glad it is a book and not a first hand account! 😆

The light is going dim. The distance between day’s end and Road’s End seems far, now, connected only by moments.

… There’s something about the evening light that beckons me to pause and reflect…

I miss my Traveling Partner more than a bit, paradoxically, considering how much I’ve been craving time alone with my thoughts. I sigh to myself, and pick up my book. I’ll begin again in a moment – a different moment – for now I’ll just watch the tide come in as the evening light fades to night.

A sliver of moon and a star. A moment.

Yesterday was a beautiful and fulfilling excursion into a single prolonged moment of self-reflection and wonder. Meaning to say, it was a lovely day spent mostly in my own head.

What enlightenment looks like.

I walked miles of beach at low tide, close to the water’s edge where the sand is most firm and walkable. I ventured across slipping loose sand to explore rocks piled at the foot of steep erosion prone cliffs. I peered into tide pools ankle deep in waves as the tide turned. I walked,  and wondered as I wandered.

I saw empty limpet and crab shells on the beach, and pebbles tumbled smooth by ocean waves. I saw anemones and starfish clinging to the rocks exposed at low tide. I saw a variety of sea plants uprooted and tossed along the beach, and even corals torn from wherever they had been, and carried to the chilly Oregon beach on which I spent the morning. Name it? Nah. Go find your own. lol The adventure and satisfaction are not about the specific location, they are more to do with how I spent the time and where I turned my attention; inward.

What you see is often a matter of where you look. This is a picture of a starfish.

I enjoyed the day. I feel more rested than I have in a long while. I sit now, alongside the local trail I’ve been walking most mornings lately, enjoying a few minutes of quiet reflection as the sun rises. Today is an ordinary work day. I feel easy in my skin and comfortable with myself. I’m in a ferocious amount of pain, which is neither surprising nor particularly consequential. It’s just a “feature” of this mortal life.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. This morning, the world’s stress and chaos, the violence, the bullshit, and the jockeying for power by the already powerful is nothing to do with me, directly. I’m here, now, in this moment, in this local place. My heart feels light. It’s enough.

I look down the trail, as the eastern horizon turns a bold orange. A new day begins. I smile and get to my feet. It’s time for me to begin, again, too.

Interesting day, yesterday. My travels took me up winding mountain roads to new places, new trails to walk, new spots to sit and think and listen to birdsong and breezes. I found a new forest to “lose myself” in, on miles of well-kept trails.

One trail leading to others, some narrow, some steep, some descending to creek beds, others tracing the ridgeline.

Elsewhere, high on a hill, out in the countryside far from the noise of city and suburb, I found a new place to paint with a remarkable view. Well…on some other day, perhaps, or some other moment, the view will be remarkable. lol Yesterday, the view was misty, and obscured by the low hanging clouds that had wrapped the mountainside.

A new favorite place to paint, weather permitting.

The mist didn’t stop me from painting. It’s beautiful there, exactly as it was. What stopped me from setting up and painting the lovely scene was the rain that fell steadily. There is no cover, there, and I wasn’t set up to deal with that. Water falling from the sky is no way to treat soft pastels! lol I sat listening to the rain fall contentedly, thinking about how to set up my easel in the car, such that I could comfortably paint. It’s a smallish tabletop easel, and it seems likely it might be possible. I was entertained by that thought, and satisfied to sit quietly, listening to the wind in the trees and the sound of raindrops on the roof of the car, waiting for the rain to stop. It never did.

Mist and mud.

I whiled away a good bit of time enjoying my thoughts and the moments as they ticked by. I got out into the wind and rain to explore the muddy slopes and trails that clung to the hillside, twice. Time well spent, but the park is a small one and I quickly completed the few short trails, and got soaked and chilled in the process. No complaints, I enjoyed the morning. By afternoon, my thoughts were of hearth and home and the prospect of a hot shower and warm dry clothes.

The dense fog accumulating seemed to be a hint that it was time to head home.

The mist became a dense fog, and I decided to head home rather than risk a more hazardous drive later. (Conveniently, my Traveling Partner was missing me, and eager to welcome me back.) The drive home seemed both shorter and easier than the drive to the park had been.

Damn that hot shower felt so good! A simple luxury elevated by a chilly rainy morning hiking muddy trails. Perspective.

Now, it is morning once more, and another new beginning, another day off spent (hopefully) painting in some beautiful place. I am listening to the wind and waves at a favorite bluff above the beach at Road’s End. It’s not my destination, today, but a good spot to wait for daybreak, and watch the dawn come.

A long exposure lets me capture something of the moment, although it’s barely daybreak and still quite dark.

I have this place to myself, other than the gulls already busy overhead, and quite noisy. Another beautiful place. A soft misty sort of rain covers the windshield in tiny droplets. I don’t hear rain, just the wind and the waves on the seashore. I laugh quietly to myself. Will I be “rained out” (in?) again today? It was raining quite hard when I left the house a little more than an hour ago. The forecast is rain, everywhere, all day. I’m not bothered; the moment is my own, in spite of the rain.

I wonder briefly about the affairs of the world, then let all that go; it is reliably an insane clown car tossed into a dumpster fire in this current administration and I really don’t want to hear another word about the insanity, the corruption, the cruelty, the lies, or elon-fucking-musk. 100% of all of that can wait. For the moment, my own sanity and self-care are by far more important (to me). It’s not as if anything particularly unpredictable is going to develop. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let all that go, and pull myself back to “now”, the wind, the waves, the gulls overhead – this moment, here.

A misty gray dawn, a new day.

The dawn comes. I swap my soft shoes for my sturdy hiking boots and grab my cane. I love this beautiful place, familiar and cherished. I stop here as often as I come to the coast. This view brings to mind my Granny, who loved the sea, and my Dear Friend, although she and I never made it to this place together. I’ll walk down the steep rocky, muddy, path and walk the shoreline for some little while, before I head down the road to the place I hope to paint from, today. Whether I do or not, it’s a new day, and it is mine. I don’t know where this path leads, in any specific way (metaphorically speaking), but I know I will see some beautiful places.

… Funny… when I planned my time off, the forecast had suggested that these would be mild days, with a limited chance of some rain… I laugh at myself trying to plan around the weather. The plan is not the experience. The intention does not determine the outcome. It doesn’t really matter, my time is my own, and the clock is always ticking – I’ll just have to walk the path ahead of me as it is.

Where does this path lead?