Lasting Impressions

Mon-

On Anglin’s Fishing Pier, in LBTS as the town terms itself to save paint on the street signs, tame pelicans lord it over all and try to pick up tidbits from the gawking tourists. They haven’t caught on to the money to be made from posing. The pier’s private owner has, so there is a $2 per person charge for entrance. It must be admitted that this is a very nice pier, long and well maintained, picturesque, and with the pelicans and almost as amusing the tourists, certainly worth the cost for entertainment value alone.

We enter our final week before heading back to Huntington normal. It may be a little hard to get up to speed after what has been essentially a month of what they claim is the goal of meditation. No thoughts, empty mind, days slipping by. Or, if you prefer, Margueritaville. No worries. Just letting more days pass, happily in ourselves and the beauty of a warm sunlit place.
Tue-

Beginning the real season now. Almost an impressionist painting in the center of town, colors and people and drinks all over. Never-never land, and like all fantasies it is probably best to just give in and go along with the dream. Reality will return soon enough.

Reality is a bit more amorphous for me, now that I am retired. There used to be a clear division of things I hated to do, or things I didn’t want to do at particular times and at the whims of others. For me, that was reality, and I tried to fit my own world around it as best I could. Now everything and everytime is my own, and I am only gradually (but very happily) adjusting to that fact.
Wed-

Another sunrise. Facing the Atlantic over the beach makes the early morning a defining feature, which eventually brings home the inevitability of truly big events. King Canute could not forbid the tides, nobody can declare the Earth should stop turning, power has limits. Individuals can hide from the sunlight, or use air conditioning to mitigate its effects, or ignore it, but day follows night regardless.

That is not unlike all those clamoring voices clamoring that by merely following their advice and paying for their predictions, I can avoid known catastrophe. I can double money entrusted to their care; I can prevent aging and death by purchasing their juices or magic elixirs or potent pills; I can guarantee happiness and prosperity to my offspring (or myself) by following the advice in their book. But the sun rises anyway. Finances rise and fall. Aging occurs. All life dies. My offspring (and myself) will, like all humans, endure our share of comedy and tragedy and glory, regardless.
Thu-

Humans frolicking in herds on the beach, relatively free of cares and worries. They were evolved for this planet, and in spite of all the world’s and their own troubles, they still fit into it perfectly and enjoy its enchanted majesty if they give themselves half a chance. That is what vacations are truly for.

Global worries abound _ catastrophes, long-term deterioration, elimination of species, pollution, population, disease, hunger. Local worries abound _ storms, climate, crime, society. Personal worries abound _ finances, career, health, mortality, control. Yet even now, in the larger picture, the days are beautiful, wonders are everywhere, and I can rest content with life, imperfect as it may sometimes seem.
Fri-

In spite of almost total redevelopment of every inch of ground on this barrier island, a few creatures remain to enchant us. Pelicans, porpoises, parrots and people, amidst the palms, shells and assorted other vegetable and animal species. Including these delightful tiny ubiquitous lizards that scatter from their sunning to hide under hedges as giants stride by.

I hope that it is not too late for our species to achieve social and technological maturity to preserve many of these wonders. Our immense growth spurt has placed things on a knife edge _ some days I am extremely hopeful, others despondent. Time _ which I do not have _ will tell, but today _ the time which I do have _ can be spent appreciating all that remains. Thankfully, an awful lot does remain.
Sat-

Into every life some rain must fall. Sunny south Florida during February this year has been mostly not raining, although clouds and wind were often abundant. In an interconnected world, the true variations of local climates can be forgotten, but they remain as powerful and strong as always. Today a few strong showers will sweep through off and on, nothing like the Northeasters to be encountered further up the coast.

So a lasting remembrance of this long vacation is dry days, warming cool days, at least some sunshine always due soon. It is probably most people’s vision of this place, and surely the one promoted by tourist guides, and fairly accurate at this time of year. Stubbornly, I cling to the idea that seasons are wonderful and I like the procession of life and storm, even through snow and cold. But even I am forced to admit that I would not miss February in Huntington at all.
Sun-

Final lasting memories are of ceaseless surf and happy people. The ocean does what it has done for billions of years and will do for billions more, life or no life. People flicker by without registering in the geologic time scale, but each is filled with infinite moments and experiences. At this time and place, everyone was relaxed and joyful and purely enjoying a fine time, mostly heedless of worries and cares.

That is reality also. We focus on the malcontents and badly adjusted and psychopathic and tortured, which fill our news and haunt our dreams. But most of us, here and now, do not live amidst such aberrations. Most of us, our friends, our families, our communities, are positive and grateful for the chance to be who we are. This vacation has helped me remember that, and to put all my roiling thoughts into perspective.

Sandcastles

Mon-

Almost anyone with access to the beach as a child has built at least one sandcastle, although nowadays serious adults usually produce “sand sculpture.” Castles must be built relatively near the tide lines, because otherwise the sand is too dry. That means that eventually, no matter how magnificent the structure, one wave or another from the rising sea will erase it completely. That is one of their peculiar charms, a lesson in life framed as a playful pastime.

When older folks review their lives they begin to realize how much like sandcastles our certainties and ambitions have been. The solidity of childhood, parents, early friends, young children, prideful career melt when encountering the irresistible waves of the future. Our bodies themselves erode over time, waiting for the final inundation of mortality to level them back with all the countless other grains. Yet that makes us appreciate all the more the eternal moments we have experienced as we concentrated on various turrets and walls and whatever else possessed our imaginations. As the song says, “they can’t take that away from me.”
Tue-

Geology claims that just about anywhere on the planet was once along or under an ocean, so everywhere is a once and future beach. The sandcastles people build are only of slightly longer duration than those of children, and are similar in being often decorated with frivolous details to their main purpose. In this case it is the fountain, the palm trees, and the square in the upper left which is a clamshell half roof painted (crudely) to resemble the real sky. Nobody needs any of that nor the landscaped parking lot in order to buy something.

Architects would claim that aesthetic touch adds value, and they are right. But why that should be so in the cold calculating social and economic world that “social scientists” inhabit is a complete mystery. At least to such frigid minds. I believe it is one of our most wonderful attributes that we add beautiful but functionally useless embellishments to everything we do. That separates us from the robots.
Wed-

Other creatures build structures, notably this coral which washes in constantly from a reef just offshore. Some of it is destined, like the chunks here, to be ground into sand. Some becomes embedded in sandstone, or with time and pressure turns into limestone or eventually is metamorphosed into marble. It is difficult to imagine any shopping center or nuclear power plant being transformed into anything as beautiful as marble, but over geologic eons, who knows.

Lately, strong “scientific” theses are being advanced about non-human animal consciousness. I do not think coral, or puppies, or dolphins can appreciate the beauties of those various forms of rock. Our experiential awareness is several orders of magnitude _ possibly an infinite degree of separation _ from the thoughts of those minds. I do not mean to lower the cosmic value of all forms of life, but rather to emphasize just how gloriously unique and privileged we each are.
Thu-

Lauderdale by the Sea, town center, evokes the temporary spirit of sand castles appropriately. Unlike its monolithic neighbors marching down the shore, each looking like it could withstand an apocalypse or two, this area looks like it could be blown off by sea surge or hurricane. Somehow, that seems right for building on a sand spit.

Besides, that is also the spirit of the tourists passing through. None of them are making plans for the ages _ most of them are probably trying to forget the problems and failures of plans for the ages. The locals are not into eternal memories either _ they just want to dip into the stream of money flowing by as they sell trinkets and serve food and drink. It’s fun to let the inner child play once again.
Fri-

Break from sand and decay and gloomy thoughts _ it’s vacation after all. Even if here in South Florida the temperatures plunging into the high thirties with fierce winds have driven those who cannot find down parkas to thoughts of suicide. Nevertheless, the sun manages to put on a fine show each morning.

One of the greates
t gifts we have, I think, is this chance to always wake to a new day. I have never been one to hate sleep, although I sometimes wished I needed a little less of it. But. like the sun, we get to restart and shine for a while, regardless of the past and before the moments weigh too heavily.
Sat-

Like many other places, Fort Lauderdale styles itself the “Venice of….” Canals alone do not make a beautiful city, although all of them collect the flotsam of heavy winds and lax tides. Here, amidst the coconuts and garbage, a dead pelican.

We all last longer than a typical sandcastle, although perhaps not so long as a few of the things we create. But only we experience each day as if it is endless, each moment as if it goes on forever, each experience as if it is simply a window into deeper and grander mysteries seen and unseen. Time for us is as fluid as water in these canals, and the occasional dead bird is a warning we easily ignore.
Sun-

Since anthropomorphic tales are such fun, we can picture the sea as carving its own castles _ the beaches themselves, the barrier islands, even this tiny cliff resulting from high winds. Every day it resculpts the shoreline into a slightly new pattern. Well, not entirely true. One grain may seem identical to another, but of course each is truly unique at the subatomic level, and each composing atom has its own complex history over eons of time, and grains are shifting constantly with wave and current and wind.

The ocean tends to evoke mighty metaphors and grand moralistic stories. Hypnotic and powerful, we imagine it as implacable and relentless. But all those adjectives are tinged by being applied to humans as well, and human connotations change everything. For now, I empty my mind and enjoy the play of water and sand and where we all have been and may go.

Snowbirds Swelling

Mon-

Driven by mysterious instinctual migratory urges, flocks of humans darken the skies and cover southern beaches beginning around this time of year. Often their temporary sandy nests are adorned with colorful scraps of all sizes and shapes. Curiously, this display behavior is most present in those well past courtship age. Many curious monographs have been written on the phenomenon by various xenobiologists.

Unfortunately, in spite of bitter protests from the scientific community, this peculiar natural marvel will soon be entirely lost with the construction of a new hyperspace shunt.

Tue-

According to native American legend, the “New River” in Fort Lauderdale appeared suddenly after a night of earth shaking. But its name is prosaically attributed to frustrated early cartographers because the inlet through the barrier island out to the ocean kept shifting by miles every time they remapped it. I suppose it’s better than some of the other words they probably used.

In typical Florida fashion, the city goes to a lot of trouble to make a beautiful parkland and restaurant-lined plaza along a lovely stretch of water, then lets insanely huge boats tie up alongside to completely block the view. That seems to be a common quirky aesthetic around here, a nice conception, a hint of beauty, then a prosaic slide into common ugliness, as if the original vision fades and is blurringly erased by selfish private wealth working its wonders.

Wed-

Although Sisyphus today has a big machine to help, his task remains unending and essentially undoable. This guy tries to hide the residue of every high tide under a blanket of sand, while incidentally picking up the worst of the trash that also floats ashore. No matter how successful he may be, the whole thing happens again in twelve hours. Forever.

We want our beaches “pristine.” Gleaming white sand, unblemished by dead fish, rotting vegetation, or the garbage that an increasing polluted ocean regurgitates. No snakes, no bugs, no thorns. As someone who has had a day at the beach ruined by a swarm of mosquitoes, a few pesky greenhead flies, or the stink of decaying flesh, I admit that I am as effete and hypocritical as anyone else. I want to experience nature, but only after vast amounts of effort and fuel oil have sanded down the rough edges.
Thu-

Could be almost any shoreline anywhere. Seagulls may not have arrived with people _ as so many invasive species have been spread throughout the world _ but they certainly thrive wherever humans do. The fact that humans also provide all the mounds of garbage necessary for food supplies probably means that these birds do not directly compete with locals.

Seagulls are incessant scavengers, beautiful in flight. Each aggressively defends its own turf, driving others away from a self-perceived treasure with shrieks, beak thrusts, and short charges. If gene cross transplantation ever takes over, a few chromosomes from them would probably make a more effective class of managers and entrepreneurs. They even know when they are outclassed and take wing to easier locales, in the avian equivalent of declaring bankruptcy.
Fri-

Beach peas in profusion on a dune with grasses bearing sharp burrs (from barefoot experience) and holes probably dug by rats. Fifty years ago, such wild patches in abandoned or undeveloped lots on the Jersey shore filled my young imagination with thoughts of how wilderness had been conquered, leaving these reminders of its might. Now there are no heartlands of wilderness, and when the seas rise perhaps the last beach peas will be gone.

Beauty will remain. Begonias and orchids, roses and seagulls, will probably remain as long as humans endure. Not butterflies nor beac
h peas. I have lived through the beginning of the sixth extinction, and fortunately will not live to see its completion.
Sat-

Sunrise over the ocean as theatrical it always is every dawn everywhere every time. Beautiful, awesome, majestic, no art can do it full justice. Beyond the magic of illuminating a new world after our profound vanishing into the darks of sleep, it represents a beginning afresh, and wonders to be seen and done, and hope and warmth.

That I can use such words, and you can find them meaningful, is one of the reasons human experience is unique. A mechanical intelligence could document the exact moment the red ball appears on the horizon, but can it be capable of why that is “theatrical,” “magic,” or “hopeful.” I think not. Recreating emotions and sensations and being, which depend on chemicals and hormones more than electrical connections, is beyond any conception of current artificial intelligence attempts. Not celebrating complicated human glory is a crime against our self.
Sun-

Fallen coconut shell in front of a fallen palm log on the only open space for miles along the beach. I am not sure if the lack of a huge skyscraper here indicates insufficient financing or the presence of a public park. Maybe that is a tautology _ I suspect adequate financing could purchase any public land. For the moment, it is refreshing to have a semi-large grassy expanse behind the dunes of the beach.

Not too many people along the shore today, it being cold by southern Florida standards. People get here and quickly get in huff along the lines of “I refuse to wear a jacket when I am paying all this money for warm weather. Let’s go eat at a restaurant instead!” It’s very easy to let expectations cloud reality. What would have seemed heavenly to folks a day ago in New York is now a cruel twist of fate from nature robbing them of happy times getting a tan. Me _ well I’m grateful to experience cold or warm or rain or sun _ just about anything at all. It’s the alternative that’s bad.

Florida February

Mon-

Humans are destroying the planet, extinguishing the biozone, doing terrible things to each other. But, boy, can they build when they want to. An extensive, convenient, and relatively inexpensive miracle of air travel gets one away from ten degree temperatures in hours, and allows some of us to spend time in the man-made cliffs lining the ocean down here near Fort Lauderdale.

The problem always was, and continues to be, balance and limits. What is too much? How far is too far? How do we stop ourselves when we know we must. Or are we doomed to destruction? Well, I’ve added my own bit of excess, and here I am in a fine warm place for a while.

Tue-

Monstrous skyscrapers march along the shore, an artificial dune of immense proportions, filled with coral-like residents who each decorate their little cubic spaces and try to figure out what to do with the day. It’s all cash all the time, because there are almost no public spaces and in a few years the income-starved local governments will probably be charging for air to breathe.

Most of the population here _ permanent or temporary _ is old. Some places seem an inch from becoming a necropolis. Even the young people _ servitors to the ancient geezers wheezing around_ move in a deliberate rhythm, as if lightly infected by the disease (of aging) that is slowly killing everyone around them.
Wed –

The Atlantic is like the Atlantic everywhere _ harsh and rough most of the time, with the wind usually blowing inland. Wave follows wave, as waves have in all oceans since the first waters submerged the planet. The continents may have changed, life may have arisen, the composition of the atmosphere may have metamorphosed, but breakers like these rolled in ever and ever.

I become hypnotized, lost in time and space, watching the everlasting patterns that are never identical, constantly moving. Sounds lull me into a meditative trance. Sand cushions my toes perfectly. At least for a time, all is perfect. But since I myself am not perfect, I will become bored and move on soon enough.
Thu-

Even here along a shoreline that looks more built up with skyscrapers than Manhattan, a small strip of wild dune is left between the buildings and the beach. Maybe it is aesthetic _ there is certainly not enough to protect from storms. Palm trees, grasses, beach peas, and a surprising number of other species eke out a living as constricted as that of the humans roaming the small condo cubicles above them.

Typically, this should provoke a lament on how people have destroyed nature. But I have seen remnants of the natural wild state of this strip at a couple of state parks nearby. Even though the countless snakes that originally slithered through the impenetrable mucky thickets and the swarms of insects that clouded the swamps are long gone, the remaining dense tangle is hardly the place for a relaxing vacation. All in all, I guess I prefer it as it is. I just wish there were some Michelangelo of coast development determining a better set of aesthetic considerations rather than the stark functional soviet housing blocks it has become.
Fri-

Portuguese Man o’War is as odd as its name. I thought at first it was all jelly, but careful poking shows it is a tough balloon. Reading indicates that not only is it venomous, but more startling it is not even a true multicelled organism. More like a beehive colony of single cells, which somehow support the shape, the air inside, and the venomous tentacles that swimmers (and beachcombers) should avoid.

I suppose, since it is classed under hydrozoa, that ancestors of this creature diverged from ours early on. I further suppose there would be little if any fossil record of their changes over the eons. Perhaps they have been around in the same shape since before creatures made it to land, or before there were multicelled animals at all. These interesting but useless speculations are both a blessing and a curse of our consciousness. It’s wonderful that we have the capacity to learn and think of elements of our u
niverse so alien to our everyday experience.
Sat-

Temperatures reported on the news are a little deceptive. With gale-force winds whipping off the Atlantic, churning the surf into a fury, a person can chill down awful fast, even after chasing a hat down the beach. So far, the winds have hardly ceased, and it feels at least five, sometimes ten, degrees colder than are measured inland a ways.

Except for the high-rises, it can look like Maine, lighthouse and all. Florida lighthouses I have seen look much better from a distance then up close. They are none of the European/New England cute stone fortresses, but rather squat black iron water towers braced by utilitarian ugly black iron beams. Post-civil war military utilitarian aesthetic. That period gave us the Brooklyn Bridge, the Eiffel Tower, a lot of historic New York and Paris, but passed Florida by. Of course, almost nobody lived here until the 1920’s, it was truly a wilderness zone.
Sun-

Sign at (private _ $2 to get on) Lauderdale pier reads “sea turtle nesting,” and countless signs along the main highway advise that street lights are dimmed during the nesting period. Turtles are an ancient order, although not nearly so ancient as the jellyfish which are one of their main food sources. Ocean warming and possibly pollution have dramatically increased the jellyfish supply, and perhaps the turtles are rebounding as well. Humans may be a silver lining for a few creatures beyond cockroaches, rats, and seagulls!

We have an odd place in our heart for turtles. They’re not exactly cute, but they seem about the least threatening objects around. Nobody has nightmares of being pursued by a giant tortoise, nor dreads being locked in a dark closet with a sea turtle. We don’t worry about falling overboard and finding one swimming toward us, and even the most ingenious and bloodthirsty cultures and rulers have unable to work them into torture. I wish them health, although I’ve never seen a live one outside a zoo or aquarium, and probably never will.

Blizzard !

Mon-

“Historic Blizzard” already starting to lay fresh powder on top of the remnants of the storm of a few days ago. I’m somewhat jaded _ it seems that “historic” means anything that 25 to 30 year old meteorologists cannot personally remember. But a few feet is very inconvenient for everyone and dangerous for some, and an old retired gent who can sit at home and watch the world turn white has no right to comment on such things.

My guess is that ten years from now, this will not be remembered. With global warming the various storms and precipitation patterns are inevitably growing more intense. If I were a betting man, I’d probably predict “historic” weather events almost every year, each dwarfing in magnitude what we all used to consider normal back in the good old days of the 1950’s.
Tue-

Early preliminary to major snowfall, wind picking up, moderate flakes off and on blurring the horizon. After dark, the wind picked up and this morning about 15 inches on the ground. Nothing too spectacular, as indicated by the second picture.

Some claim this shows the power of nature. 500 years ago, the power of nature had already winnowed local tribes to the hardiest young, and a storm like this would lead to death by freezing and starvation. 300 years ago, early settlers would be trapped in cabins for long periods, also worried about cold and hunger. 150 years ago, the farming community would be relatively safe, but necessary outdoor tasks still risked mortal danger and frostbite. Today we worry overly about missing a few comforts _ instant transportation, power and connectivity _ as if they were of the same degree. Nature has lost its bite in most of these local events, but may be avenging itself more long term with warming beginning to destroy the biosphere as we know it.
Wed-

Nowadays, being snowbound is a romantic state of mind. Just about anyone can get out of anywhere _ even if it takes a helicopter _ if necessary. Yet it can be a pleasant illusion for those with the necessary time. Deep snow, frigid cold, harsh wind, long thick icicles _ things people are unlikely to find in a future of underground malls or interstellar spacecraft.

I get just as much caught up in the cultural moods as anyone else. There is always an edge of disaster, a rush of newness, hopes and fears and jumbles of experiences overloading each day. Even meditative moments have trouble quelling the tide. Sometimes nature can help slow me down a little, and this is such a moment.
Thu –

Not much to say about an expanse of snow. Nothing very dramatic. Warming ocean waters still resist any kind of permanent freeze in spite of low temperatures for the last few weeks.

I make myself go out and walk around a little, although my toes chill even through three pairs of socks. What stops me from normal activity in the winter is not the cold, but the lack of shoulder on the roads. It’s hard enough watching out for my own missteps, but sharing a narrowed icy road with maniacs who must get somewhere can be suicidal.
Fri-

Light snow has covered the world in beauty. Softly luminous light envelops harmonious whites and greys tinged with soft brown, accented by peeks of dark green. Flakes continue to fall, there is no time but now, nothing to do but enjoy the show.

I sit quietly in contemplation sipping coffee, adjusting my mood to match the scenery. Not difficult for me today, I am fortunate in having nothing of the jangling outside world intruding on my peaceful solitude. A lovely blessing this morning, something to truly appreciate and be thankful for.

Sat-

For all the trouble caused by a foot and a half of snow, its results are singularly unimpressive along the shoreline. Wind and cold are far more brutal than slush and the remnants of ice washed by tide. Fish, I am sure, noticed nothing at all.

Beautiful scene for a modern person who need not be concerned with the trivialities of having enough to eat, a cozy place to sleep. Were I to properly use the miracles daily provided by civilization and science, I could bask in such experience all the time.
Sun-

Nobody going swimming here today. But tonight we shall be in Florida, where at least the sand is visible. Miracles of modern science, jet planes, even as they add to global warming. Would us not taking this one trip a year make a difference? I suspect not.

We go a little north of Miami, where children are as rare as unicorns. It’s mostly grumpy older well-off people, a sprinkling of younger burn-outs, and various young-adult menials who must do wealth’s bidding. Affection has been almost totally transferred, it seems, to dogs in various shapes and sizes. For me, an excursion to an exotic culture in a very strange land.

Still Winter

Mon-

Heavy rain over the weekend washed away most of the residual snow and ice from last week. Woods have nothing dramatic left, just brown leaves, dull ivy, darkened birch _ even the bright green holly is subdued in the bright overcast. Another day passes, and suddenly we are past mid January. Days are already notably longer.

An easy time to be snug and immobile indoors. Being outside is often a challenge, from bitter cold to freezing rain to snow and ice making walking all but impossible. And what are the rewards _ no flowers, few birds, shades of brown? Yet entering the elements has rewards, if I can just get beyond that storm door.
Tue-

Tangled bare fallen seasons gone

Skies hover colored as the waters

Nothing memorable

Unless I try
Wed-

Centerport Harbor unusually empty in a frigid north wind. An enterprising clammer takes advantage of that natural resource to use sails to help him drag rakes along the bottom for harvest. Tough way to make a living, but it does keep you out of fluorescent light hell.

About the only thing I miss from other eras is the lack of open spaces free of people. Around here, especially, every inch of ground is covered and coveted. Fortunately we do have parks, most importantly these parks on open water, where I can pretend to be alone for a while. I don’t know if my periodic desire for solitude is a grace or a fault, but I know I must allow it once in a while for my mental balance.

On lonely trail above blue sea,

Weeds stiffly brown, bare frozen sand,

No birds, no deer, just barren trees,

Empty mind, no thoughts, no plans.
Fri-

This scene will soon change as a new probably ugly steel and glass hotel is stuck onto the façade of the old town hall. Meanwhile, just below, a movie set is seeking to utilize some of the quaint historic charm of the village. I’d go for keeping the historic charm, but all the town elders ever think about (because that is the nature of ambitious people) is to raze the ancient and get more money (presumably) from the new.

Oh, it’s sad enough that no one around here even thinks about what they call “patrimony” in Europe. Admittedly, ours is only a few centuries, and hardly spectacular, but it is real. At least I have had a chance to see much of it, to meditate on the meaning of time’s passage, and to enjoy fully the world I have inhabited.
Sat-

Warming waters from the Atlantic have prevented much freeze this year _ even this ice is just from fresh water seepage floating on top of the brine. What little we have is quite pretty, on a cold clear morning.

The invasive phragmite reeds, which everyone hates, float prettily overhead. The spartina, which everyone wants to thrive, struggles with the polluted waters. Yet in China, apparently, it is the spartina which is the hated invader, displacing native grasses quite as aggressively as phragmite here. As a pretty awful invasive species myself, I can sympathize with everyone and everything.
Sun-

Usually these pictures come from my walk in the morning, or at least somewhere outside. But sometimes I do get very lazy, when it is, for example, drizzling coldly on heavy wet snow. So it’s just a poor picture out our window, not even bothering to throw on a coat and boots and tramp around a little. Mea culpa.

Any discipline, writing or art included, is an exercise in setting boundaries. What are you willing to use, what do you want to leave out. Will a picture use advanced techniques or just be by design a crude point and click? Will an essay seek the exact mot juste, or simply express a flow of thoughts at a given moment? Lurking behind the technique is the reason, but choosing the technique is a larger part of the rationale than we often acknowledge.

Postfestival Blues

Mon-

Parts of the harbor finally succumb to deep cold with a skimming of ice. The warm water has been very resistant this year, these floating patches the first sign of freeze. Even so, only the upper fresh water layer is affected _ out near the inlet the salt water looks like mid July.

Most lights have been taken down, most decorations put away. All guests have gone home. Daily routines have resumed in all their dull glory. The party is over, even the hangover the party is over, and now the hard wait for spring truly begins. An easy time to ignore, to hide from, to try to forget. And yet _ as always _ there is deep beauty in the always fresh scenes each morning, loveliness in the rich colors of southern sunset.
Tue-

Hushed frozen wind
Words thoughts fail

Wonder or infirmity of age?

Answers slide vague as air
Wed-

This bay into Lloyd Neck lies beyond the harbor inlet, and the waters out here are slightly more frigid and unpolluted. A freeze can almost resemble “the good old days” when everything _ even Long Island Sound itself _ would occasionally ice over in the more normally harsh winters.

On the one hand, I regret those times have passed. For one reason or another, the waters run free almost all year, every year. There is a worry about what that may mean. But, on the other hand, I only have today to enjoy it all anyway. What reason have I to be troubled of past and future? Things will change _ they always do _ and whoever is around then will have to adapt and enjoy whatever there is, as I have done with what has been around now.
Thu-

By necessity or choice

Some people must perform

Tasks alone and difficult

While I try to stay warm

Fri-

A dock in Northport village could be Maine, gulls and all. Northport is known to be picturesque, but many of the commercial photographs concentrate on summer evenings. The iced harbor hosts a wind that bites to the bone and sucks heat out no matter how warmly dressed you are.

Yet there is a clear channel in the middle of the harbor, where working boats continue to go in and out as long as the ice remains thin enough. I suppose those folks are extremely proud of how hardy they are _ I would be. Nevertheless, I’m always amazed that in this day and age people can still be found to do such tough and difficult and presumably nasty work.

Sat-

Irresistible force of the tide meets unmovable object of the rocks and the loser is _ the ice. Here are all the elements of a good tale or proverb, not excepting the dead reeds that will eventually return no matter what and the encroaching works of man destined for eventual dust.

Proverbs and tales and thoughts of irresistible and immovable are plentiful and comforting. They all lie. The world is all relative and contradictory and complex and there are no absolutes. Deeper cold for longer and glaciers wou
ld halt the tides and move the rocks. Desperate heat for longer would remove the reeds and eventually the people. Goldilocks environment is in delicate balance, for which the only appropriate tale is one of worry.
Sun-

Imagine how strange a scene like this would look to some primitive from the tropics who had never known snow or ice. Even for me, the sharp shadows and reflections can make it resemble some setting from a science fiction movie on another planet. Yet it is part of all the “normal” taken for granted every day.

One of the hardest tasks I find, in a world of electronic distractions, is to maintain a sense of wonder at the “ordinary.” I become dulled by the repetition of moments, and forget how precious each one is. I set out strenuously looking for something wonderful, when wonderful is everywhere I wish to concentrate my being.

Renewed Joy

Mon-

By convention, seasons begin another annual cycle, just like the last one, but subtly different. So also with the views and daily thoughts in my blog, each very much like each other, like all the others last year, yet each subtly charged, never quite repeating. So, of course, each moment of my life.

I notice no difference in myself. Yet almost all my cells, in the solar revolution past, have been replaced one or several times. Some memories _ what I ate for breakfast in September _ are irretrievably gone, but others such as a summer wedding are deeply etched in memory. Mysterious, incomprehensible, contradictory, awesome. I try to great each joyous moment of existence with the respect it deserves.
Tue-

North wind whips

Whitecaps rushing on
While calm geese shelter all day

Old man remembers.

Wed-

Light snow drifts into a quite cold morning. Only I see these outlined branches against the farther waters. Dogs and their masters are waiting for better times, not yet desperate enough to brave these minor elements when they have just had the holidays to run around outside as much as they want.

As always, I carry mood within myself, although that is sometimes hard to accept. The deep chill of short winter days seems made for depression, but it is just as beautiful as summer. In any case, all my universe and how I seek to appreciate it lies behind these eyes, under my cap, almost immune to the physical world.
Thu-

What marvels seen, such wonders come,

In passing night, each risen sun.
_Karma Save_
Fri-

In spite of 5 degree temperatures, the water is too warm to even skim over yet. Light snow refuses to melt, mud from recent rain has frozen into the consistency of steel. A brisk wind rapidly bruises exposed skin, even taking a deep breath can be an adventure.

But the good side of all this is that I have the whole place to myself. Even the cars are infrequent. No dogs, no joggers, not even my casual normal fellow walkers. I can enjoy the peace and quiet, listening to birds and the rustle of the trees. I rarely notice how antisocial I am until I have the happiness of such moments.
Sat-

Preening feathers, swan said “Behold how lovely am I, the most noble of waterfowl.”

Goose said “Yeah but you can’t do anything except drift. We take over entire fields, and can migrate incredible distances.”

Duck said “You never do, though. I’m the only one around here that has to work for a living.”

“Poor birds,” old man said, turning away, “too stupid to know that I am the glory of the universe.”
Sun-

Haven’t had much snow this year in spite of frigid temperatures lately. These two inches are about it.
An appropriate blanket of forgetfulness marking the true end of another year gone.

I struggle with the recognition that I am useless and irrelevant. I no longer share an illusion that I can affect the world. It is important that I remain true to my culture and my time of life by appreciating it fully. In all the infinite history of the universe, there has never been anyone like me, and never will be again.

Holiday Cheers

Mon-

What? This hardly looks cheerful. Rain (not snow this year) due any second, no sign of happy shoppers, just another drab day in an increasingly drab season. Solstice passed, we assume the sun is making his way back, but it will be a long journey until spring. Meanwhile, all our instincts are to burrow in somewhere for the rest of the winter.

These are the times when I must force myself outdoors, to follow the normal routines of walking about, enjoying the few bird calls that are there, watching the play of light and feeling the grace of the breeze. If I dress appropriately, the world is still an immense playground. And, of course, there is the added bonus of gatherings of friends and family when I return, warming my soul while my fingers and nose catch up.
Tue-

I drone on about the subtle harmonies of browns when it suits my purposes, trying to contrast how I feel now with my emotions in summer. But conifers are here in profusion, and their green needles quietly insist I am mistaken. The white sand, the grey sky, the blue water all join the chorus. And that is without getting into the brash colorful chatter of manmade objects no matter where I look. My carefully constructed observations are, inevitably, founded on falsely narrowed perceptions.

The world is too infinitely diverse to describe. Much of what we could know, we never do. I suspect there is even more that we are unable to comprehend. But even in that narrow band of what we think we do know, based on what we think we do perceive, our limitations at any given moment are only allowing us a frozen impression of what our mercurial minds will eventually realize as they slide along and about. Consciousness is a miraculous gift, reborn each moment, an appropriate thought for these days of solar renewal.
Wed-

Suspended moment, almost unformed, misty and cool and waiting for rain or clearing or something besides the transience of suspended droplets. Waiting, as it were, for birth, which is really the theme of this season. The birth of a new year, or the return of the sun, or the religious encapsulation of Christianity.

It is appropriate to have a celebration of being born, for that is hope and future and genetic or cultural continuation. Bring out all the bright lights, exchange gifts, devour feasts. The old will soon enough have their day of reckoning, but for now it is all about the bright promise of what will be, and being grateful for what there is.

Thu-

Ah, Christmas skies clear with the dawn. Lovely symbolism. Except, like many things, this clearing comes from an unexpected direction. The east, where the sun is presumably rising, is covered in thick dark clouds, and the light is all from the west. How silly we often are, to think we know where to look into the future.

I insert here the standard prayer for peace on earth and goodwill
for all. Optimistically, I think that still has a chance to happen, and that after our difficult cultural transitions there may yet be a golden age for all. It’s a good dream to have.
Fri-

Very mild holiday week _ no snow, in the fifties, verdant lawns. When I escape the rush, there are quiet unfrequented places in the woods, such as this, where no delivery truck nor yard crew roams. That may all change in a few years, as the drones frequently given as presents yesterday become common everywhere. The world continues to change in unexpected ways.

All I can do is be grateful for having lived now, for living now, for still having enough of the wonder of a child to appreciate my existence. As I grow older, I realize that has been greatest gift of all, and no mere bauble from the mall can produce nearly such happiness.
Sat-

Children’s happy laughter and loud adult conversations have died down, overwhelming anxiety gives way to calm. Perhaps after New Year’s there will be resignation, perhaps anticipation of all that is to come, but for now it is enough to relax and forget about what was and may be.

Normal life gradually returns as do all the visitors. The sun continues to rise and set, the ducks and geese swim in the cool, and media inform us of new storms on the horizon. I am simply happy to look out and be grateful for everything.

Solstice Stops By

Mon-

Harbor activities wrap up rapidly now. The weather has been moderately bad, but normal. Everyone knows at any given time, it could become horrible for quite a while. So the boats that are going ashore have gone ashore, and their moorings are now being picked up and stashed in parking lots. That’s what this little work craft is doing _ in fact, in another week it is likely the docks themselves will no longer be available.

Mornings don’t seem all that different _ well, colder, of course _ but noon sunlight is never all that brilliant, and the outside workday comes to an end surprisingly fast. Most of the folks who are putting up holiday lights have them blazing by the time the sun goes down. Judging by the frantic traffic, most of those same people can hardly spare a glance to notice any of this, immersed as they are in last minute necessary tasks.
Tue-

Remove the possible snow, eliminate the fancy flashing lights and eccentric lawn decorations, turn a back on the constant auto traffic and the season has a feeling of free emptiness and quiet. The birds are often quite hushed, except for a shriek of alarm here or there. When the wind does blow, its echoes are subdued with no leaves to disturb. The eye rests on seascapes free of human activity, not even implied by boats bobbing patiently awaiting use. Docks are tied down, expecting the worst, but the worst is a while off yet.

It’s a good time to reflect on the rhythms of the universe, the tides of my life, and the majesty of each day I am permitted to experience. Some, apparently, regard such vistas and ask “is that all there is?” seeking a secret logical meaning or imagining great hidden treasures in an inconceivable eternity. I know I know nothing, but “all there is” in my world and life is infinitely more than I can possibly appreciate properly.
Wed-

A mild spell has everyone who can do so out walking. Mist softens the harsh outlines of bare branches. Sienna, ocre, umber soften to grey in the distance, while the muted greens of remaining grass accent the composition. The same moisture mutes the various constant noises from last minute yard clean-up and road crews getting the pavement ready for the worst.

In a week, there will be jolly festivities, enforced merriment, tense truces in family relations, and the constant requirements of following tradition. A week after that, everyone will take stock of themselves, shake off the disappointments of the last year, make resolutions for the new, and gird themselves to get back to “normal.” Then the decorations come down, cold settles in for good, snow and slush and ice rule the grounds, and I return to life simply being.

Thu-

Nice effects from the sun low in the sky even near noon. Without any instrumental change in the temperature reading, simply having the sun and no wind this morning felt warm and fine, no direct sun and a brisk breeze this afternoon feels raw and cuts deeply. No matter how bleak it may seem, however, the beauty of everything is undeniable.

Day after day,
paragraph after paragraph, I drone on and on about beauty and wonder. Do I not realize there is evil in the world, that people are hungry and children die and pollution pours into the seas? Am I ignorant of the thousand and one calamities that surround us all? Mea culpa. All I know, shallow as I may, is that at my time in life, in my situation, moments in the world are magical and glorious and worthy of praise, and perhaps that is what I must add to the noisy bedlam.
Fri-

Water is chilling down fast, although it looks the same as always _ I can tell because my warmth is ripped by the steady northeast wind blowing across the empty expanse. The barnacles on the pilings and the shellfish unseen go on with their normal lives. Fish _ well, I don’t actually know any of their cycles except for the bluefish, all gone out to deep sea.

I could read up on all this, try to become a naturalist, relearn all the names of the plants and trees and shells and other things I once knew, be amazed by studies and meditations others have produced. But the tattered remains of my memory are enough for now. They add to my enjoyment and pleasure, without intruding or overwhelming the experience, and that for this afternoon is exactly where I want to be.
Sat-

Monochrome only slightly broken by the crane, done working for five or six months. Boatyard activity has slowed considerably now _ well, actually the action moves indoors and out of sight. Even the yard crews have scraped the last of the leaves off every surface and rarely visit. Once again, sound is dominated by wind, birds, and an occasional jet plane or siren. Not exactly ever quiet, but about as much so as it gets until a deep fresh snowfall.

Contrary to expectation, such days can cheer me up. There is a certain perverse streak in looking at a monotonous landscape settled in depressing chill and just going with the mood. Nothing to be done, it is all futile, we are lost. OK, that means it is truly a holiday _ I have no responsibilities, no hopes, no urgent must-be-dones. Adjust and enjoy the world as it is.
Sun-

At least six geese, more swans and ducks, but as far as I can tell no golden rings. This avian gathering in a sheltered cove goes on all winter, out of the wind and with plentiful fresh water seeping through the sand from the hillside. The worse the weather, the bigger the crowd.

You would say that other creatures hardly notice solstice, but of course that is wrong. Now that they have dealt with migration instinct anxieties, if any, males are already preoccupied with mating in the coming spring. It’s fun to watch the chasing and pairing. Humans like to feel they have a monopoly on emotions, and also like to believe they have tamed their more primitive behaviors, but some of the actions in this area closely match the plots of many of our soap-opera entertainments.