There was a mist, yes, and yet people had umbrellas over their heads. I felt puzzled as it was so lovely to walk in the mist. I walked down by the rocks and a multitude of crabs who, like me, didn't seem overly clear on differentiating exposure in such watery air, scuttled as I passed by. The rocks and crabs are enchanting colors in mist-light.
I passed two women, one being trained with a guide dog for the blind. Guide Dogs for the Blind is in San Rafael, so I often see dogs and people out being trained, and each time I give thanks for sight, and yet both women seemed in full appreciation of life and December light. The dog seemed young and in need of training, but got lots of pats and treats for everything that was done right. It is quite a bonding, a deep and precious gift for both dog and human.
I came home and again persuaded the water in the road to a flow I prefer. It's definitely warming to lean, dig, and fling shovelfuls of mud and rocks.
I am still with the Life of Pi. It's not a movie that is seen and dismissed. I'm rocking on a raft. Part of that may be re-reading Sogyal Rinpoche's The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying. Change is habitat.