This past week has been heavenly here on the coast. Relatively calm seas, very little wind and lovely clouds.
Nearing sunset at Meyers Beach. Looks like a giant sea slug gazing out to sea in the foreground.
The color arrived about the time we made it to Brookings that night.
Another day, on the way home I had to pull off to catch that pink streak at the horizon. The photo doesn’t do it justice, but I tried.
Same place, but with a wider look to include the wispy clouds.
Finally, tonight on the way north to Port Orford, I just caught the sun before it dropped behind the fog bank.
Smiles from the threshold of the year to come,
Whispering ‘it will be happier’...
― Alfred Tennyson
or perhaps home on the road. I had to stop and back up when I spotted this marvelous work of art. We often see campers or trailers along the coast highway here, but this one was exceptional. I simply HAD to get a picture of it! Only wish I could have seen the inside, but was too shy to ask.
We are travelers on a cosmic journey, stardust, swirling and dancing in the eddies and whirlpools of infinity. Life is eternal. We have stopped for a moment to encounter each other, to meet, to love, to share.This is a precious moment. It is a little parenthesis in eternity.”
― Paulo Coelho,
Again I missed the pause between storms today. Instead we hiked up the creek for a short distance close to sunset. What I like most about this time of year is that the weather seems to change from one minute to the next.
The light bark of the alders shines through the approaching dark. By now they are very nearly leafless
Some raindrops still clinging to the branches while it looks like perhaps the willows growing along the creek still hang on to some green.
The fading light for once forces me into a very slow shutter speed creating the silky look of the flowing creek. Given all the rain we’ve had, the creek has risen and I can hear it rushing toward the sea if I leave a crack open in my bedroom window. This time of year it’s like a constant presence.
And I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, ‘If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.
― Kurt Vonnegut Jr.,
The drippy remains of the brightly colored vine maple… taken from the back porch with rain literally pouring down. It’s a really good day to stay in where it’s dry. Luckily it’s reasonably warm. A good Oregon November day… (but aren’t they all good?)
The birds visiting the back yard provide some interest:
A ruby-crowned Kinglet. These little tweety birds are beyond cute with those teeny legs and huge eyes, but they don’t often stand still enough for a portrait.
Eric has been focusing on identifying the tiny, fast moving tweety birds. I have trouble spotting them, much less capturing them with the camera. This was a fortunate shot since the Swainson’s Thrushes aren’t often seen in the open. They tend to hide in the underbrush.
Another shot of a Swainson’s Thrush
A swamp sparrow in the clover. It’s never a dull moment around here 😀
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all
― Emily Dickinson,
It’s the blustery days of November on the coast….
clouds, surf, spray… it’s all good
Spindrift usually refers to spray, particularly to the spray blown from cresting waves during a gale. This spray, which “drifts” in the direction of the gale, is one of the characteristics of a wind speed of 8 Beaufort and higher at sea.
Back home, the fallen leaves at the tail end of autumn…
In the height of the gusts, in my high position, where the seas did not break, I found myself compelled to cling tightly to the rail to escape being blown away. My face was stung to severe pain by the high-driving spindrift, and I had a feeling that the wind was blowing the cobwebs out of my sleep-starved brain.
― Jack London,
These succulents amaze me as they cling to the tops of the massive monoliths scattered along the coast.
How they manage to survive the salty mist and the winds and the storms of winter, not to mention the baking sun in summer is a mystery.
And yet they seem to thrive on the most extreme conditions. We tried planting one today that had washed up on the beach after a recent storm. It’ll be interesting to see if it likes its new neighborhood.
Sometimes even to live is an act of courage.
How interesting to see a different perspective when comparing the way we see the same bit of beach (or anything else for that matter)…. the composition is superb. Eric featured the kelp while I was taken with the clouds (in the previous post).
Things are as they are. Looking out into the universe at night, we make no comparisons between right and wrong stars, nor between well and badly arranged constellations.
― Alan W. Watts
the sun played hide and seek all day,
It is a curious situation that the sea, from which life first arose should now be threatened by the activities of one form of that life. But the sea, though changed in a sinister way, will continue to exist; the threat is rather to life itself.
― Rachel Carson,
Oh, how I love this weather…
it’s really not as cold as it might look to some -it was perhaps 55º-60ºF (roughly 13º – 15ºC)
what I call hoodie weather
even the native blackberries put out a touch of color…
and this… the road through Humbug on a misty day
and our Big Leaf Maples (aka Dr Seuss trees)
We may not have the riot of shades in red, orange and yellow… but we manage to get some autumn splendor with a different palette…
Can’t say I miss summer one bit…
This is what you shall do; Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.
― Walt Whitman