Yesterday, on a rare sunny day I was coming home from town when I had to make a quick photo stop. The mist and cloud formations across the bay were ominous, warning of the next weather system coming in.
*Warning* Wet camera lens was an ongoing problem.
I turned the camera back towards town. The spread of the clouds stretched along the far hills. In the water is a long row of posts that has been there ever since I can remember. Not sure what purpose they once served, unless it was a navigation guide. The posts still stick out at high tide and warn boaters of the bar.
As you can see below, some posts still show in places where the bar is farther below the surface, and the trunk of a long-dead tree is hung up on the gravel. This is not where you want your boat to end up. Seagulls and a heron sit on the log like sentinels warning of hazards to navigation.
After a slightly deeper stretch of water, the bar comes up again and continues into the bay. A river flows along the side of the bar that is closest to us (at the bottom of the photo), while the water beyond is a shallow bay that is a mudflat at very low tide. If you want to bring a boat up the river, you need to know where the channel is or end up with seagulls sitting on your hull.
The sandbar is a popular place for birds to dabble and sun themselves. Sometimes you’ll find ducks and geese there; sometimes, like this day, seagulls.
The sun came blasting through the clouds for one last look at me. I clicked the camera as I looked back into its blinding light, knowing I might not see this light for days ahead.
This morning I see that I was right. Looking out my living room window, I saw what was behind those first clouds I saw yesterday – a blast of southeast duck weather.
It’s a good day to stay home while the Captain goes duck hunting.
Winter on the coast is wet,
Wind and rain is all you get,
Sometimes there’s a glimpse of sun,
Just five minutes, then it’s done,
Back we go to wind and rain,
Hope by spring I’m not insane.
One misty, moisty morning,
When cloudy was the weather,
There I met an old man,
Clothed all in leather.
Clothed all in leather,
With a cap under his chin.
How do you do?
And how do you do?
And how do you do again?
Montucky posted such beautiful photos of the mist in the mountains in this post: https://montucky.wordpress.com/2018/11/28/in-between/
that I felt inspired to run out onto the deck to take some misty photos of my own. They are nowhere as beautiful as Montucky’s, and nowhere near as remote, but it’s what we have here close to town.
Looking at the mist hanging in the trees took me back to a childhood nursery rhyme. Do any of you remember it? I think nursery rhymes are becoming a forgotten treasure of our childhood. I’d hate for them to disappear like these mists will do in an hour or so.
Sitting in the dark in my living room at about 6:30 this morning, I was surprised by the contrasting colour of the two levels of clouds — one layer of light gray and one of very dark gray. It gave me the shivers to think of the wind and rain that were coming our way.
I was not disappointed. It blew and dumped rain on us. Once the moisture had been thrown into our faces, the clouds lifted (that’s not the same as going away) and the sky brightened up.
The flicker looked up from his perch in the black walnut tree and called to his buddy who had just flown away, “What do you think, Dear? Is this it for today, or is there more coming? Should we find a more sheltered tree to peck on?”
Flicker eyes the roiling sky
Shakes himself and gives a cry,
Shudders at the force of storm,
Sodden feathers, not the norm.
Hoping sun comes shining through,
Flicker asks, “What will I do?
If the next storm is as wild
While I’m wishing it were mild.
Friends will fly away from here,
I’ll be left alone, I fear.
Wait! I see a glimpse of sun.
Surely I’m the happy one.”
The wild winds weep
And the night is a-cold
Come hither, Sleep,
And my griefs unfold.
I wish I could claim this poem as my own creation, but I can’t. It is from a poem called “Mad Song,” by William Blake.
I was quite taken by this poem when I wrote my first novel of a coastal drama in which the wild weather played a significant role. That is why I used “The Wind Weeps” as my title.
I’m not trying to persuade you to click on the book cover image at the side for the free download of that book, but if you do, remember book two, “Reckoning Tide.”
Driving past Point Holmes on my way home from shopping, I stopped to take a few pictures. I had to hang onto the car door tightly so it wouldn’t rip off. A torn rotator cuff on a person is painful, but on a car door it would be expensive – so, also painful in a way.
It takes a good stiff wind to give these waves foaming, frothy tops. In the photo below you can see a smooth line near the bottom of the picture. That is the paved boat launch ramp. No one is using it today for obvious reasons. No way I’d want to be tossing around in a small boat out there.
Even the little songbirds were looking for shelter. They swarmed in small clouds to and from the beach. Some flew in to land on the rocks and logs, but my photo doesn’t show the tiny birds well. I enlarged the photo to have a look (as you may be able to do by clicking on it), and I counted at least twelve small birds. It’s a tough time for them.
Those mountains in the distance should be clear and sharp. It is only around noon, but the sky is dark and full of raindrops flying sideways so the far shore is fuzzy and the mountains just a haze.
It’s too stormy out there for me. I think Emma has the right idea.
The autumn days are nearing their end. Nights are colder. Even though this coming week is one last promise of warmer weather, we know it can’t last. The RV park is emptying out. It’s soon time to go home.
It’s been a treat,
But where’s the heat?
A week’s reprieve
Will cold relieve,
The sun’s last rays
Of autumn days
Will soon be gone
And cold comes on.
It’s time to go
Before the snow,
Back home to rain
And rain and rain.
No rain all summer, until a couple of days ago. At last, at last, the skies opened up and water poured out.
The drops of water on the deck made beautiful rings on the wet surface. (Well, I guess they look pretty ordinary, but I was overjoyed to see them.) Ask me again in January if I still love rain.