Look who was sleeping in my woodshed!
How did I notice this sleeping beauty? I didn’t see it with my eyes.
I felt it. My hand felt something soft when I picked up the piece of wood it was on.
After admiring it, I slipped it back between split chunks of wood in a woodshed bay where the still-seasoning pieces won’t be ready to burn until next winter.
Coquina and mistress on the Black Point Beach walkway.
Coquina and Umi, on the path to Lambert’s Cove Beach.
View of fog from a foggy ferry window
Moments later, the fog began to lift, revealing a passing tug and its powerful wake.
Over centuries, the trees in the woods behind our house have been cut for firewood again and again. Moss will grow on a flat stump. The two mounds of moss in the photo have grown where the tree’s trunks once were.
After each cutting the tree has regrown.
Try and try again!
The current trunk is in the top of the image.
How’s that for persistence?