When we journeyed out into the lowlands and highlands of Scotland, we learned that currently only 2% of the land in Scotland in covered by native woodland. What we were often seeing was spruce, planted in lines to supply Ikea with furniture makings. We have some amazing trees here. I thank conservation efforts for that.
I reached the beach, and saw that the current position of the moon means the tidal range is vast. I've never seen such a low tide at Stinson. A huge beach, shimmered before me, a beach recently covered in water. If I'd come at high tide, there would have been no beach at all. I was the first one there since the water departed. There was no one around, and the sand was pristine. I chose to walk north. It was cold enough that the water felt warm to my bare feet. I saw parades of brown pelicans. Remember when they were endangered? I felt I was in a primeval dance, just me, the sandpipers, and later, two gulls.
After walking an hour or so, I saw a woman coming toward me. I couldn't figure out why she seemed so awkward and unnatural. As she approached, I could hear music through her headphones. She was running to a beat totally unconnected to the landscape. She was a fish out of water.
My eyes softened, caressed by the multitude of grays. I realized how people in Scotland can see blue in a sky I see as gray. I have that kind of sensitivity to fog. I revel in it. This was a low fog, with gentle lips.
The Parkside Cafe opens at 7:30 so at 7:30 in I went, welcomed as one always is by this place. I sat by the fire. There is no music here, only the sound of crashing waves on some days, though not today. The tide is too low, the water too far away.
In London, the morning coffee shops blare with loud, dissonant music. I wonder what that does to the psyche to start the day in such a way.
I overheard two men talking about the conservation work in the local area and all of CA. It seems someone has moved in locally, and is flaunting the local laws. He is trying to bring Manhattan to the area. They suggested something might happen in the night to his building to the property line in garish colors. I don't understand it. People move into my neighborhood and want to change it, want to cut down trees and "improve" the road. Gradually, they come to see that the land here speaks.
I am now renewed, and feel I'm "back". It takes time to return. This is my place. I am home.