Could it be possible that a landscape might have a deep friendship with you? That it could sense your presence and feel the care you extend towards it?– John O’Donohue
Monday morning 8:35, almost snowing, a light drizzle and 33 degrees. North wind. High tide.
It feels like it may snow. It’s moving down the mountains. A degree or two makes all the difference this time of year, so I figured I’d show you the drift wood piles on the south end before they are covered with snow, just in case.
The dogs do not set their clocks back and were ready to go out before I was this morning. I’m up, it’s not that. I was at my desk with coffee by 5:30, but by 8:00 they were circling and knocking my elbows with their heads.
They charged out the door to the beach. A sea lion popped his head and shoulders out of the water and looked at them, they barked, and then ran back to me. This is why they say hiking with dogs in bear country isn’t always a good idea. The dog may bring the bear right back to you instead of scaring it off. The sea lion stayed where he was. (I couldn’t capture the image on my phone. He was up and down so quickly each time.)
He followed us from the safety of the inlet and we followed him from the safety of the shore. I like to think he enjoyed seeing us as much as we did him. No one else was out this early and it was so quiet that I could hear my boots on the gravel, and later, a small plane heading to the airport and wet car wheels on Mud Bay Road.
It’s going to be a good week.
