…about the music

Water crossing. And mud.

Above is what this corner of the world looked like yesterday afternoon (MID afternoon, I might stress, as it was just after 3pm and oh so impressively dark). The sun lowered itself gently over False Bay, an aptly named body of sea and muck that is always mysterious and gorgeous. At low tide, shallow, rakish water pulls far, far back to expose mud and creatures to the sky from which they hide. Here, the air was crisp and fresh, in contrast to other visits that attacked my nostrils with a sulpher-like smell so overwhelming as to drive me back inside my car. Such as this summer moment as seen from the same spot, in the fog:

Today the islands are having their first glimpse this season of white powder. I woke up like a little girl, announcing excitedly to Charles, “it’s snowing! it’s snowing!” and watched as everything became dusted and magical. I went outside in my flip flops and pajamas to feed the birds and reveled in the flakes brushing my skin. For a northern-born soul like me, it was exhilarating. We’ve had just a sprinkle of flurries so far on San Juan, but parts of neighboring Orcas Island are already laden under an inch or two.

I keep hearing the great James Taylor in my head: “Now the first of December… was covered with snow…”
Rockabye sweet baby Alex.