Thoughts on things

Well, I thought that after the long piece on Évora I would be quiet for a while, but here I am winging it again. Not sure where this is going, so please don't expect any coherence.

I'm thinking about good things coming to an end as we leave here one week from tomorrow. Of course, it seems like we just arrived but also like we have been here for quite a while.

I am in that ambivalence zone, not wanting to leave, especially the warm, but also ready to be back home. And, strange as it may seem to some, I am missing Amber.

So, in this frame of mind I go to the ocean to look and listen. When the water is fairly quiet, I watch the water break on the beach then recede. I don't know if you have had the opportunity or been interested in this, but if you have you will know that it not only leaves interesting patterns in the sand, of which I showed some photos last year, but it creates endlessly interesting patterns of a mix of foam, water and sand.

I find it fascinating to watch these patterns develop and have taken quite a few photos of them, a few of which are here.

Here is another pattern that I quite like.

And this one, which you have seen before but I like it a lot so think worth showing it again in case you missed it.

And, at the other end of the action spectrum, the last couple of days we have had some wind and the ocean is pretty active, pounding the shore more vigorously than usual. So there is interesting spray to be seen against these rocks and,

aided by the folks who built the new breakwater, there is a new obstacle for the ocean to pound.

I know, everyone has seen waves raising mountains of spray and, especially for those of you on the west coast, these are ho-hum. But for a prairie lad and the photographer in me, it is endlessly engaging watching and waiting for the next even bigger splash.

So it seems that at times like this, I can spend a lot of time watching and listening to the power of the water and being here instead of thinking about leaving.



I must go down to the sea again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume and the sea gulls crying.

A verse from Sea Fever by John Masefield

One of my favourite poems (and one of the few of which I remember at least a bit)