The smooth slate sea and the wall of slate clouds resting on the horizon make a city.
Midsky, the clouds break up, and their different tops are the city skyline. Like this.
A little like that. Venice.
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“Some would say that there is no greater pleasure than to walk a deserted beach on a cold, sunny day in winter,” writes a woman at the Gulf of Maine Aquarium.
There are many greater pleasures. Yesterday, the wind bit into my right ear and no thickness of scarf kept it out. My eyes were too dry. I squinted at the sand, scouting black stones with white veins, and when I found one I smoothed off its sand with the wrong pair of gloves — I keep forgetting to wear cheap gloves, not the cranberry Coach pair I got for Christmas — and put it up to the light and then pocketed it.
This was a pleasure, to be sure — finding a stone whose lines would lengthen the mosaic something I’ve been writing here.
And being alone was a pleasure, walking the unprinted beach with zen sitting gulls on it. And then I wasn’t alone, because no matter how cold or late or gray it gets, there’s always someone else drawn like me to the beach, eyes down to the stones or up to the sun that now, thirty minutes after it made Venice, makes a little prayerbook illustration.
January 16th, 2009 at 8:52AM
Wow.
That third photo is wonderful.
January 16th, 2009 at 9:04AM
Yup.
They’re all poached from Google Images, of course. Hope I don’t go to jail.
Maybe I’ll get home monitoring, like Bernard Madoff.