1.9.2003
assorted sightings and notes...from 1.8.03
The beach is at least 15 degrees warmer this morning than up the hill at my cabin where it is 44 degrees (f). The sun is warm and the water blue and inviting. A flock of Surf Scoters, Buffleheads and some Lesser Scaups is hanging out in our cove feasting amongst the eelgrass at low tide. I also saw the local kingfisher, but none of the other solitary birds I've come to know.
The bay is alive with birds at this time of year. Gulls abound, brown pelicans, cormorants. I'm itching to get out on my kayak on one of these windless days when I don't have quite so much work that can't be put off.
Monday on Papermill Creek just upstream of White House Pool I saw some river otters. There were three of them, and I was treated to the longest look at them I've ever had. They were busy in the reeds lining both sides of the creek, making such a racket that my dog was getting excited. But they didn't seem to hear her growl, or at least it didn't dissuade them. After foraging bankside they would come together into the middle of the creek, then facing each other in a triangle grouping, would each dive towards the center, one after another.
Yesterday I walked at North Beach in the late afternoon. From the parking lot I headed north away from the setting sun because I'd had my eyes dilated earlier in the day and they were sensitive. I planned to walk back into the sunset. The colors were amazing. I recommend dilated pupils for beachwalking. Each pebble in the sand reflected back rich tones of gold, brown and copper. Beautiful greens and blues beckoned from each wave and softened the foamy recklessness to a dreamlike wash. Driftwood glowed amber and posed nudelike on the stretched sand.
There was an inversion layer against the horizon which reflected the great red sphere of sun resulting in an bold red hourglass. As it completely disappeared from view the sky lit up with a crashing series of flashes of red and orange in a kind of concerted crescendo or drumroll for the setting sun. Afterwards, the new moon hung high alone -- cold and sober in comparison -- but beautiful in the dark blue evening sky.
Saw a forget-me-not today. Is it a holdover from last year, or an extremely early false-spring optimist?
I think the herring have come in. Just now at sunset I see across the bay at north Millerton that the birds have gathered and are going wild. Even from here it looks like a series of bombs going off as pelicans plunge into the water and gulls and other birds circle and maw. Now I'm extremely motivated to get into a boat tomorrow.
posted by Lisa Thompson on 7:38 AM link | comments []
1.6.2003
I'm torn about what to write and how to write.
Living under a government that marches towards a questionable war while daring the world to stop it, and which values the rights of corporations more than citizens, at times I'm too weary to pick up my pen.
On the other hand, my heart is filled with prostate, whimpering humility in the face of the beauty that surrounds me. So I walk the beaches and the woods and wonder where to turn my thoughts. I wonder how I can make a difference, and I wonder what value there is in writing about the natural world when there is such turmoil in the culture.
Has anybody seen my copy of "How to be a Citizen of the World while Living in an Empire"?
When in doubt, I turn to the poets. Here's what William Stafford has to say:
Surrounded by Mountains
Digging potatoes east of Sapporo
we would listen at noon to world news.
The little radio was in one of the furrows,
propped against a lunch bucket.
We didn't make any judgments. Our fields
were wide, slanting from wooded foothils.
Religious leaders called for
a revival of spirit in the world.
Certain statesmen from important
nations were considering a summit meeting.
Old Mrs. Osaka, permanently
bent over, stirred the clods beside her.
Rice fields, yellow as sunflowers,
marked off kilometers below us.
The shrine where the crows lived
had a bell that told us when rest was over.
Goodby, old friends. I remember the Prime Minister
talking, and the water jar in the shade.
...
posted by Lisa Thompson on 12:54 PM link | comments []
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