driftwood

I had some time to myself this past week, and nothing productive that needed to fill that time. I found myself a few times down at the waterfront, walking and admiring what the sea casts up. Driftwood, logs. Memories of childhood and scrambling over them on the beach in front of my Grandma's place.








And once in a while, looking up, I would notice not the soggy cast-offs of the ocean but the life thriving nearby: an eagle (and another flew by) in a tree in Davis Bay. Look closely.