Walks

A turquoise swell, the Southern Ocean swinging around the point just part Seal Rock, into Fisherman's Bay, the beach, more orange lichen covered granite rocks.

The dog and I still, watch, she waiting for my next move. We've walked up from Horseshoe Bay in Port Elliot, along the beach, up ther rocks, the winding path down to Crockery Bay, then up the coastal way, the wind easy, light just right, the sea ambitious, swollen with tide.

Three surfers slide into the waves on their boards, past the lone seal, head out a few hundred meters to Frenchman's Rock where the waves swell and break long. They chat as they start off in the cold waters, joking about how warm it is. I'm annoyed, wanting the place to myself. Soon another walker appears with two dogs.

I move off, past them, stop again to watch the waves crash against more rocks, the spume high and proud.

The dog runs ahead, happier to be returning to the beach. I hear her barking with joy as she races along the shoreline.

I follow enjoying the lunge of the sea, the swish of its return, the roll of the stones and shells in the sudden surf, smile as the dog runs back up to me. I go to pat her, but she's too excited, runs off again.

She's getting old. I treasure these moments







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The First fires

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It's cold here this morning, bursts of rain, wind sweeping in from the sea. I'm sitting in front of our wood combustion stove. Watching the wood burn, the trembling glow as heat quivers on a piece especially thick but now almost resinous with heat.

I think of the first families huddled together in the dark, the first discovery of making a fire, the first inventions, the many quick changes of our world now.

The world, made closer by technology, can have us sitting far apart, alone in front of a computer or iPad and tablet. Words drifting across the world like the foam from waves on a wilder beach.