The tide was out. Mist was hanging low in the hills across the estuary. Someone had borrowed the Rock. All was quiet. The air crisp. A light breeze. I love mornings like this.
I walked the length of the beach to 1st Street, then wandered through the little garden and decided I wasn’t ready to go home yet, so I walked back along the shore, nearly to the middle.
A couple of white-crowned sparrows ventured down onto the sand near me as I sat on my favourite little dock. I’ve missed seeing them hanging around the feeder I have on our back patio — every year around this time they “disappear” and then reappear sometime in the Fall.
I watched them stepping lightly, hopping on the sand. One perched briefly on a gnarled, leafless limb of a sage bush before flying back up the embankment and out of sight. I stayed there for a long time, listening to their voices drifting from the trees behind me.