Reflections

A day without wind and rain is rare in the changeable atmosphere that is November on the Oregon coast. Yet, it seems as though the sun never fails to shine just when we’re scheduled to depart. 

This year, we arrived in the midst of a cycle of fierce storms that continually blew through from the south. Half way out to the horizon, a thick line sliced through the water, brown, muddy and churning with sand towards the shore, gunmetal grey out behind. Large squalls extinguished the usual sense of unending openness as they pounded rain sideways into the ground. The waves, accustomed to being in command, were pushed low by the strong winds as they toppled over each other, troubled and hunted. 

Just as abruptly as it began, each squall would suddenly dissipate into a circle of blue sky above, a tease, a question, an invitation to rush out and feel the strength of the wind and the waves for ourselves, to search for treasures tossed roughly from the sea, to be near the power of the forces of the earth. We only miscalculated once, and received a strong pelting by hail.

Today, finally expecting sun, we leapt from our beds into our boots and out to the chill as the soft light began to rise over the dark coastal mountains. The riffles of the waves glowed with a yellow hue. The glassy sand reflected the pale blue of the brightening sky above. As I searched for smooth, rounded stones, I continuously calculated how close I could get to the water and still outrun the sneaky winter waves that give rapid chase up towards the dunes.  

Then with rocks in my pocket as a reminder, I turned away with a twinge of regret, a desire for more of these stolen moments that replenish my spirit with equal parts serenity and exhilaration.