Sitting here in the golden sun of a pleasant spring evening, a short walk from the Pacific Ocean, earning its name for a change,
it's hard to remember that it's still 10 below zero in Fairbanks, snow on the ground, global climate change or none. I remember those frustrating March days, with the sun streaming through the cabin window, promising an invigorating warmth that disappeared at the entryway door. Still damned cold outside! The spike in the outhouse hasn't even melted yet!
Here on the Pacific Plate, Great Blue herons wheel overhead, extending their long landing gear for a comfortable set in the eucalyptus looming over the Small Craft Harbor. It's Crow Time at about 5:30, when flocks of gamboling crows fly southwest into the setting sun to their favorite perches on the coastal margin, there to squabble with each other and remark on the vast panoramic vista lit by the golden sunset. For some reason, as they fly south, the gulls fly northeast. Perhaps they have a condo-share arrangement somewhere in the hills to the north.
Kingfishers perch on the harbor pilings, chittering their distinctive call, and occasionally diving down into the salty water, flying through the liquid medium to catch their dinner, which they swallow insouciently head-first on a handy fence post. Frogs creak and croak in Arana Creek, providing a soprano counterpoint to the basso barking of the sea lions.
It's spring on the Central Coast, as if it's not always spring here.
Bwthyn Lleuad Bae