Saturday, December 27, 2014
Exactly one hour after launching from Ligui beach, I am sitting on my sleeping bag at La Ventana beach on Danzante Island. Clouds hide the stars, but the gibbous moon shines through. Jupiter flirts with the sea, now reflecting brilliant, now shy.
I’m alone, except for Moose. Left Mom & Dad in cell block 2, cell number 2517a. They’re comfy in their luxury. I choose a pebble beach, the sleepy sound of waves on the shore, and the open sky. This is my luxury. This is where my heart lives.
I wake to watch the sunrise. Last night’s show at the “prison” was a rendition of Cats with people crawling around on stage in black tights with tails and ears. It was probably good exercise for them, and a way for the guests to pass the time while eating dinner. However, this morning is my kind of show.
Sunrise lights wispy clouds on fire over Monserrate and Santa Catalina Islands. I watch from my sleeping bag on the pebbles of Danzante. Add drama with some falling rocks tinkling down the cliffs behind. Syncopated music of the waves. I’ll join in on the flute when I’m done writing.
The changes are subtle but constant. The game is awareness. My pleasure this morning is to not be distracted from the game by making breakfast. Just being present with the sunrise. This is the sound of my cup filling.
This is the sound of flute music resonating off the canyon walls.
Does rock have a memory? Can their crystals reorganize like those in water based on the vibrations around them? Harmony or disharmony. This mini-amphitheater of rock and water and sharp desert plants has watched moments of drama and comedy of my life play out over the years. The stage hands know all. It has watched the pelican show. Again this morning: six, then nine, the one more, then dwindling again. Dive. Float. Flap flap, fold, and dive heavy again. Back and forth across the beach as a pack.
The wind line moves in, back out, then in again. A sailboat cruises by under a downwind genoa. Santa Catalina disappears into moisture and dust in the atmosphere, Monserrate almost goes too. Whitecaps peak up.
I lie here content after an exploration up the south canyon, up to the scree and the dike at the top, capped by a layer of loose cobbles. Cormorants glide by, beaks in the air. I should return to the prison and visit with my folks. I want to see them, just don’t want to leave. It’s been 2 and a half action-packed months of guiding back to back trips, and this is my first morning to lie here in the sunrise.
Just a few more