April 18, 2016 ~ brentwood bay ~

there was a haze of smoke hovering above the ocean when I arrived. A steady 24 degrees at sunset, from around the bend an extending plume, reaching toward the inlet as waters sloshed and swirled in discussion to my left. The ribbon of cloud shifted and spun slowly in the air. Across the Bay the billowing sky chased the sun beyond the malahat mountains in pleas of orange and dashes of pink. Northwest peaks tumble into purples drawn by dusk. No crashing waves, but the ripple of subtle tides trembles the vibrant surface; a patchy Picaso of the pastels above. A seal's head appears. Two seagulls, two geese. Birds are always about in pairs, especially in spring time. Beats bump past, and the sky is dipping deeper into an array of bold palettes, fuchsia trimming wispy clouds like lace. Motorboats glide home. All atop the trees now, shapes dusted pink, and to the North baby blues pass briefly through green to spread as peach, and now the ocean before me is red. Two ducks skid by. Two fishermen with a prawn trap. The sunset's show continues. This happens every day, though the display is circumstantial. Not every evening aligns the bated rains, still winds, and clear heavens, nor especially a waxing moon, high in the South East to glimpse the staggering canvas. Birds calling in the trees behind me, farther in land, as I am on the tip of a rock. Speckled tufts of cloud in drifts to the left like a choo-choo's coughed puffs, to the right sprays of haze, all hosting bubble-gum pinks. The blues darken, the moon glows. Today I handed in my final essay for college. I am done. It'll be a while 'fore I do that again. I learned a lot and I'm glad I persevered, but I'm now ready for the re-awakening of spring. It's time to open a new window, turn over a new leaf. ~ is there psychology for everything? is there a reason why something is happening on a literal level - a circumstantial equation upon which we merely structure superficial and easily-digestible interests... but is there a scientific, tangible explanation? What is all the clicking I can hear as though scattered atop the water? Like crabs clapping their claws - is that it? The city is consuming, this I knew already... I thought I was tired of the boat, but I am certainly more sick of the city. Now that school's done - I just want out. I was chomping at the bit to get back to the dock this afternoon... it's gone past so fast; the sailboat goes North again in a week... and I'm already missing living afloat. On nights like tonight it's really somethin' else. This later hour dragging the remnants of winter on the receding horizon, a tossing of orange that fades, barely breaching Northern borders. A blue heron circles about, the air chills as the sun closes out East. I'm glad to be here.