Winter sun low and calming on my back, constant but not urgent. The sea tells the same story. Below me, waves swell and travel and collide, powerful and gentle, with the volcanic rocks lining the shore, as they always have, as they will, no matter what we humans do or don’t do. What a relief.
It’s June, in the southern hemisphere, but there’s a last-day-of-summer feeling with the rain returning tomorrow and everyone out in the day before we’re confined to quarters again (our last rainy spell lasted 38 days). Sometimes it’s good to know what’s coming. Until then it’s a sun-warmed present, all seabirds and the shush of those waves and puffs of cloud descending to the horizon. People in hoodies sit on blankets or in folding chairs staring out, looking for whales.
A ship made small by distance glides south along the rim of the visible world. Cliff shadows creep across the water, taking the grey-blue early into night, while the sun keeps shining, its long-travelled light warming my back, telling me without words to enjoy its generosity while I can.
You can read more Sunday writings here.
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.