Leslie and I paddled across the Cape May Harbor then up Spicer Creek, to see and hear and smell and feel what we could, as were blessed, again and as always, with life.
The empty Schooner has a fir tree hanging from its fore-mast, twisting in the breeze, an effigy of a bare Christmas tree, reminding us we are in for some dark days.
Leslie paused in her kayak--I was amazed at how closely she had drifted to a great blue heron resting on a drain jutting out of the sod bank. She did not see the heron--her eyes were on a bald eagle just up the creek, perched in an abandoned osprey nest.
Along the bottom, thousands of tiny whelk scrawled along the mud, etching parallel lines at an angle to the shore, responding to something I could not sense. Coyote tracks could be seen just under the water--I paddle slowly following them to the point they had left the water and ran up a side trail.
On the way back, we sliced our way through a small flock of bufflehead, tiny harbor clowns flitting in, on, and under the water.
Last night my brother and I caught the Andromeda galaxy in binoculars, photons that have spent the last couple million years flying through space, now bent by glass, onto our retinas, right here, right now.
I need more days like this, so I deactivated my Facebook account.
All photos by Leslie.
Vicarious living ain't....
Yes, my account is active--when I deactivated it, Leslie was no longer married to "Michael Doyle"--so it's back.
Yes, my account is active--when I deactivated it, Leslie was no longer married to "Michael Doyle"--so it's back.