Doglet and ‘piler were antsy yesterday mid-afternoon. The distaff was busy and trying to focus on problems I will not bother you with, and suggested that certain parties should go take a walk.
Certain parties pried themselves away from the figurative and literal hearths of computer and woodstove, and went out to the truck, with no particular destination yet in mind. We headed out our windy dirt road, turned right on Music Street, and then turned right again on State Road, towards up-Island. On the way to where we went, there were a number of places we did not go, some because we’d been there lately, and others because groups of parked cars indicated that we’d find people a-plenty nearby, and we weren’t ready for crowds, not in this time of the Virus.
Six or more miles on, we turned off at a certain dirt road. We ended up at a place we’d been before, but not lately. No other cars were around. So we stayed. A sign said “dogs must be leashed”. Even though it’s winter, we obeyed the directive. Coquina’s a pretty good beast, but she is a dog. She can get highly distracted in an instant, courtesy of her nose and her instincts. Think deer. If Coquina senses or sees deer, she doesn’t think, she just goes, and it can be a while before she leaves her senses and comes to a call.
We headed west on the rocky shore.
The tide was just past full, and ebbing.
We passed pools of water persisting behind the wrack line.
Along this stretch, the higher land is eroding.
An exposed and ancient midden spills its shells to the shore.
Since we were not running free, but were tethered, we ambled.
I ambled with my eyes, and admired a cascade of sod in slow-motion descent, its fall regulated by the speed of erosion of the bank below.
Father on, a cedar is sliding slowly to the salt shore.
Coquina ambled with her nose.
She found a herring head.
Coquina’s nose stayed busy, and she halted by a bayberry bush.
Under the branches, amid a scattering of plumage and down, she had scented out another find…
The cleanly picked remains of a raptor’s repast.
Then — we find an eroding boulder.
The tons of mass increasingly hanging over thin air.
To be underneath or even close was to feel fear of a future falling.
Don’t go near!
The rocks here are beautiful.
We walk mostly upon them, as there is little sand.
Past this rock we turn around a small point, and head for a marsh. Coquina is a water-hating wuss, and I had to carry her over a thirty-foot stretch of three-inch deep water. But we persisted, and picked our way around the perimeter of the marsh. We saw two deer. (Thank you, leash!)
Then we came to a place where this time the human wussed out, also due to water.
I’m eager to return another day, wearing boots and not worn-out shoes.
Before we reversed direction, Coquina spent some time sniffing where the deer once walked.
On the way back, Coquina saw her shadow.
But when we were again near the truck, she totally missed the stegosaurus.
I suppose there’s not much scent left after a hundred and sixty-five million years.
Thanks for reading this post.