The West Spit

From September 2012

I walked the western spit of our bay today. Here it is far more natural than it's eastern cousin.
It is a barrier bar though some effort to anchor it with grasses seems to be having good effect.
The sand is fine with fewer pebbles, some significant driftwood and very few people ever use
this beach. I love to walk here and enjoy the waves and solitude. It is a clear day and everything is just a little sharper, the colours a little brighter as fall approaches.
As I walk today my mind lags behind, about 15 years, to when I lived on the northeast corner of
this bay and had a wonderful schnauzer named Colonel. Twice a day I would walk him here in the summer. We had a dock in the back yard and travelled here by dinghy. Landing on the inside, he was out and running for the beach before I could tilt the motor up, heading to the sand.
I would walk, he would run and I was always vigilant as he would like nothing better than to roll on a dead carp. Perfume in his mind and a bathing chore in mine.
I never figured out which part of our daily routine he enjoyed more, the run on the beach or the ride there and back in the dinghy, for I had only to say "boat" and he was right back in the dinghy, panting, wet and sandy, but excited about the ride back home.
Sadly, Colonel is long gone but the memories of those days are sharp and I enjoy them still on a quiet sunny day like today.
For the beach is still here and the waves still come ashore as I walk and enjoy the moment.

Gray

Gray Sky.
Gray Water.
The Harbour Entrance is still.
Sleeping now.
In eight short weeks it will awaken.
It is quite a workout to walk to here on the beach.
The snow is deep.
My footprints show dirty snow under last nights fresh fall.
The wind never sleeps.
It is constantly rearranging the sand on the beach.
The warmth of spring will reveal the changes.
Waiting.

Rambling

From my journal June 2013

Sometimes when I walk the beach my mind is on a different journey.
It is a place to think about the day or dream of the future but most often to
reflect upon the past, of roads not taken and the ones I have travelled.
I recall people I have known, happy events, friends and yes, opportunities lost.
Sometimes the memories are simply mundane and serve to hold the rest together
as a whole. Often they are simply a reflection of life lived well without regret.

F. Scott Fitzgerald expressed it well in the last line of The Great Gatsby,
"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

Canada Geese

God must love Canada Geese because he made so many of them.
Years back we would see them winging their way south in gigantic Vees, landing in the bay
and moving on the next morning. It was the first harbinger of the fall as was their journey north
one of the first signs of spring.
Today they seem to have become lazy or acclimatised to our weather. Many do not migrate
and spend their lives near our bay. Perhaps our local population no longer has the instincts of
their ancestors and perhaps it is the legacy of milder winters, more available food and protection
from hunting in our area. Whatever the reason, they seem to be here to stay and to the point that
even the most ardent tree hugger has to have some misgivings.
In summer they are very aggressive when you approach their nests or young and they nest everywhere. They invade lawns, terrorize small dogs and their droppings are everywhere.
But it is the winter where the problem is most noticeable. They spend all their time on the ice or the small area of open water near the harbour entrance save for their twice daily pilgrimage to the corn fields north of us where they feed on the leftovers of the harvest.
As an adult goose can relieve itself of up to 3 pounds of droppings per day and it is estimated that by the end of winter there will be over 100 tons of goose poop sitting on the ice.
The next time you visit the beach please refrain from bringing bread with you to feed the geese, especially if you are coming down to let your children play in the water.

cocoon

Winter Chrysalis
The warm breath of springtime
White butterfly wings

Sleeping Swans

On the ice swans sleep
Too thin to bear my step
Another day ends

On a cold day

Wave crash on cold shore
Sleeping Lilac, Bitter wind
Await the spring sun.