Seagulls, other birds and sea lions call across the misty morning waters. Geese enter from the north. Two herons quietly soar by, not too high over the shore. Silent giants.
The clock in the square strikes a happy chime signaling 10am, then curiously shifts to a monotonous, somber bell to count out the hours. Even the clock seems to be disaffected by the persistent agitation that is covid, sighing as it goes through the motions, perhaps emptied of the usual spirit that would fill the space here with communal bustle and hubbub. The fountain nearby splashes meditatively, layering a touch of white noise onto the atmosphere.
Walk out into the river, and the surround sound of cascade and flow immerses the senses. Suddenly, thought is vanquished by nature’s echoes and vibrations blending across the frequency spectrum, favoring the range usually reserved for the human voice, whether from within or without.
I’m in the habit of parking my butt in my “front yard” these late summer days. I collect a handful of sea glass, and stare…
I woke up with a heavy heart today. Hard to say why… but not really. Maybe something in the forgotten dream is lingering. Maybe it’s the last few weeks of the tumult and uncertainty of this personal transitional moment, or the never-ending string of such moments.