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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Sea Days

This morning the 'sea breeze' app on my IPad said the wind was NNW and the day 'calm'. No breeze to speak of. We can see the ocean from here, not a huge arc of it but enough to please the heart. Enough too, to witness the changing colours, the different swells and moods of the sea.

When there's a line of breakers close to Granite island then the surf will be up further south at Middleton and Chiton Rocks off Port Elliot.

Sometimes the colour of the sea is a dulled white; at others, deep blue. Some days, rainy days, there's no horizon. Sea and sky merge.

But if it was calm outside is was action inside. Our twenty month old grandson, this old wise very young fellow,, loves games. And so we chased each around the sitting room, me shuffling slowly but noisily, matching his small steps, our slippers chatty with the floorboards, our movements interrputed only by a break for early lunch, the invention of new and crazier games. He picks up on my change of game instantly, knows what's going on. So our morning became one of flow, laughter, the humbling, ennobling expression of presence.

I'm still humming.


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