(Writing the Waves is my stream of consciousness journal while living aboard my new home, a vintage, 50-foot wooden sailboat, situated in the salty B.C. air along the coast of Vancouver Island).
It’s been a fall to remember. I left the states with Autumn in full flame and only now in late November have seen the vibrance of fall dwindle. With the turning of the seasons, the spawning of salmon at every river’s edge I pass, the change is sometimes unpleasant, but not without a certain beauty that reminds us all how temporal life is.
As the leaves mulch with fish and fowl, feathering the banks of Vancouver Island, we too shall return home as a fact of matter.
I love that my adventure here is also spawning creative notions in my friends who are following me. Like Kory Rountree who wrote the following after seeing my pics. Thanks Tree, (although you cast me as a sweaty smoker-I’m not a smoker today). Still, I can always count on you to pull a Petey Steves on me.
( I wonder who will take the next chapter and run with it?)
And now, a tall tale from the Tree:
“Yes officer,as I was saying,
I admire leaves and am fond of searching the water’s edge hoping for floaters, or what we leafers like to call ‘delicates’ to drift past” The detective showed no reaction, and Dave continued “As I was saying, I had just composed two delicates in a dramatic cinema-styled framing when the fish became apparent to me beneath the surface”. Dave paused and slowly took a pull from his cigarette, sweating slightly. “I was immediately discomforted by an unknown presence, a malevolence below just beyond the focus of my eye or camera, and it was then that the hulking fish rose to the surface with what appeared to be a large portion of human scalp and reddish hair collected within its mouth and about its head area”. Dave coughed dryly, and passed a small piece of painted wood to the detective. “As I was saying officer, I am an American”.