|Low tide to the head of the bay|
|Treasures in the Tide|
|Headed to the Pass|
I spend quite a bit of time in Alaska on the ocean. I look out my window and see the tide come and go. The tide takes logs and other detritus out and leaves new things to be discovered. Each tide is like a new opportunity. Reinvention is possible at every roll of the wave and hope it always is there, existing despite everything to say otherwise.
Glittering glasses and new sea creatures in tide pools wait to be seen. Beautiful in their place among the vegetation of the bull kelp and barnacles.
Constant gulls circle with the ever present possibility of a eagle soaring across the celadon waters. Majestic, symbolic predators of the nation flex and drive only marginally arousing the notice of drifting otters.
The ocean teems, next to the bright green of the temperate rainforest. In the dark shadows the alpha predator of our island lurks. Sometimes the word goes around, he's by the bay looking for a silver flash in the water. Mostly he is staying away. Brown and melding within the spruce and alder, so large and nimble. The bear is gone like a wisp of smoke from the cook fire.
The brown of the wood and green of the mosses surround, it's the fairy kingdom. It could be one hundred years in the future or in the past it's hard to tell. It's a place of peaceful being. It's being right where you should be.