The shifting clouded sky looks haunted, distressed. It's streaked with tattered shreds that look like dreams and nightmares, vaporized and drifting aimlessly. Ominously fantastic clouds are stretched from one corner to the other of the heavens.
There is a heavy swell piling up on rocks and shoreline, overwhelming tidal pools and then draining out in gurgling rivulets. Long heaving rushes of water, each one going further up the shore than the last, have interludes of silence between them, as if they are pausing to consider staying or returning once again.
The air stinks of guano and rotting seaweed, nearly palpable in its density, at lower tidal zones, in areas shielded from currents and waves. When the breeze blows, it's edge is cool and sobering.
Today the sky is haunted with sad memories, sagging with regret, weeping with remorse. Teardrops of rain are flowing, running, trickling down the hillsides, eventually joining the salted depths of ocean waiting at the shore. The swells gather them into their arms, forgiving, grateful.
Causes Christine Bottaro Supports
The Nature Conservancy, California State Parks, The United Way