Musings on a gray, veiled morning and photos of a beautiful aftermath
A gray, veiled morning along the north shore. The trail, softened, bears the imprints of its passersby. The cypresses are dark and dry below, their tightly woven foliage taking in the gently slanting rain. Although the parking lot is almost empty, not all are deterred: white-crowned sparrows flit from shrub to shrub, a hermit thrush investigates the leaf mulch, and from the scrub below Whalers Knoll comes the distinct call of the wrentit. Bright growth springs from wood mint and blackberry. Image-filled droplets bead the sagebrush. Ceanothus buds have begun to swell. A lone wild rose blossom graces the trailside, close enough to yield its delicate scent. And down on the shingled shore at Sea Lion Cove, the rise-and-fall rhythms of the surge fill the air with clattery bursts and deep rumbles from tossed pebbles and tumbling cobbles.
Morning musings by Rick Pettit, afternoon photos below by Fred Brown