writing on the dock of the bay
I love low tide in the early morning. It has a certain wabi sabi beauty where you can see to the muddy bottom of the channel all the things that are stuck there - remnants of broken pilings, half buried shells, a floating board that broke free but didn't get far. This morning as I sip my coffee, Dancing Water from Philz, I see a beautiful heron patiently waiting for breakfast. The ceramic pink flamingo in the window has a velveteen rabbit moment as she joins me in my watch, while the sculpture next door breathes Om . . . and our cyclamen waves yo ho! to the pirate's pansies across the pod. A curious coffee klatch. And I refill my cup.