I’ve never been to Campo before, but the drive down south is pretty pleasant. It drizzled a little and I love how raindrops jump on my windshield like tiny kisses. I take 15 S, then 8E, past Viejas, then get on 94 (never driven on 94 before), and then exit to a narrow and unpaved dirt road. With Horses and open field on each side of the road, I admire the scenery while watching the road carefully. The ride on the unpaved road is dusty and bumpy. And then I got lost, just as Johanna warned me I might. Call her and she said that her mom, Claire, is already waiting by the house and I just need to keep going on the dirt road.
Ike reaches up with one hand and grabs the whistling and spiraling orange Nerf Vortex Mega Howler out of the air. Ike tosses it to Jack as we make our way to Flat Rock on Torrey Pines beach on this sunny weekday afternoon. Jack, pretending like he is Tom Brady, zig zags back and forth in the sand eluding imaginary would be tacklers before finally launching the howler back to his waiting brother Ike. Wilhem strolls by himself through the surf’s edge as the cool water rushes up the sand, loses its will, and retreats back to greet the next wave trying to force itself upon the beach.
Jeanne, Jen, and I hike down the wooded trail towards the site of Thoreau’s home on Walden pond. The rain drips through the leaves like a concert of leaky faucets. The droplets hang from the end of pine needles waiting for a gust of wind to complete their journey to the water soaked ground. A couple of swimmers splash in the pond braving the menacing grey clouds. The concentric circles of each drop ripple from their centers and smooth back into the surface of the lake. Continue reading “On Walden Pond”
The yellow and red plastic kayak glides upstream through the waters of the ipswich river, brown pond weeds bending towards me just under the surface. I maneuver under an outstretched tree branch hanging over the water ducking my head under at the point of its arch. Wind ripples across the surface of the water rounding a corner and heading into a light breeze. I skim over lily pads stopping for a picture of their white and yellow flowers. A white heron spears a small fish wading in the shallows near a bed of reeds, it’s brilliant white plumage mocking the idea of camouflage. Maybe it looks like a cloud to its prey? Continue reading “On a River”
I like ending a day of accomplishment with a relaxing drink that loosens the talk. And today we have accomplished a lot.
Sitting at the restaurant “bah” in”Bahston” eating a fish sandwich and a pizza with an all to crackery crust. Huge glass pane windows open up to a cove of the Atlantic. The setting sun hides behind a thick grey band of clouds obscuring all but a few hues of red and orange as there are no other clouds to reflect back the sunset colors. The musky ocean smells of salt and mud do not penetrate the bar.
Seems like one of those in between days coming and going at the same time. I set up the “gone fishin'” message on my email at work. I try to get some closure on my work activities and send status out on where I left off, in case anybody cares.