72/365
After a cluster-fuck of a week, the kind that leaves you wondering which way is up, I needed this morning.
With no alarm, we were awake at 5:30. Even the dogs were up, moving from one side of the bed to the other, seeing which of us would make our move—pulling back the covers, feet to floor—first. The morning was warm. It had rained for two days, but this morning you could feel the sun coming.
Stacey got dressed for a run while I packed up my camera gear. I was anxious to test a new lens and filter in the morning sun. As jogged away with Charlotte, left out of the driveway, another left down Parsonage Rd, I jumped into the truck with Espresso, shifting into four-wheel drive to negotiate the mud, an early-spring right of passage.
Espresso and I arrived to an empty beach and a tide rolling up the mouth of the Royal River. Birds scatter, taking flight or leaving the shallow rips for deeper, safer water. We sat quietly amongst the rocks, seaweed and puddles, all gleaming in the sunlight. The birds slowly returned, adjusting to our presence.
I sat watched nothing in particular. I was quite, thinking about nothing specific. Moments like these resynchronize me with life. They're a way of refocusing. Cleansing.
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