Wednesday, November 22, 2006

More Starbucks thoughts.. and a trip to the beach

Nov 21st

The sunlight is fighting its way through the clouds again. The few trees furtively attempting to cover their seasonal nakedness are made more noticeable by the beams drawing attention to the few bedraggled leaves hanging off of their skeletal frames.

A crow perched on the power line but now it is gone.

The wind pulls at the remaining leaves with a lover's gentle caress. The breeze whisperingly invites the foliage to descend at gravity's call.

Three crows fly overhead, and away, upon that same breeze.

The wind now increases it's effort and gustily buffets the remaining few that still hold on.

Perhaps the tree, not unlike a balding man with comb-over, is not comfortable with the thought of loss. Perhaps it is living in a deluded state, thinking that the seasons will not go on, or that it will not be lovely without it's leaves. Perhaps the tree needs a hug. And to realize that beauty is more than leaves.

A crow drops out of sight in front of the window, to perhaps scrounge for crumbs. Passing people give it cause to fly to the road. A passing car gives it cause to fly to the street sign on the corner. The white droppings on the stop sign evidence that the crows commonly perch on the corner of Pendergast and Cock.

Later on Nov.21st

Twelve crows perch, fly, watch and stare. Blue sky appears in the distance. A crow calls. A crow struts. Two crows walk the planter with petunias. A man attempting to parallel park his Nissan Sport Wagon succeeds in backing up onto the curb as a blonde lady with a black handbag in a red top strides by with purpose and no time to spare for crow observations. One crow on one power line, one on another. And sparrows flit by in the blink of an eye doing tight formation maneuvers. Bundled up black jacket and baggy blue jeans on a bearded man as he huddlingly hastens along. The wind wiggles the few leaves left on the tree that grows above the close cropped bamboo The bamboo that remains green. An inattentive man with a pony tail, a green ford truck, and a matching canopy, reverses rapidly towards an accident but it is averted by another's attentive awareness and response. Did the inattentive man notice? I don't know. He's gone now, left when I wasn't looking. Blue sky gone a heavy rain has started. It isn't a thick rain now, but rather a heavy rain with large drops. Upon encountering the puddle across the way in back of the Pic A Flic by the blue BFI dumpster the heavy drops raise up many rounded bubbles. Monuments to the raindrop's journey from above and the ending of it's individuality. A crow on a sign. A crow in the tree. A crow leaves the planter to walk down the sidewalk. Two crows by the dumpster. Three in the planter moving around leaves. The rain has decreased in size but increased in intensity. A turquoise rain jacket, blue backpack, and lip ring, head towards the intersection. I wonder if you had a lip ring in long enough if you could take it out and shoot water out the hole like a water gun?

Nov 22nd

Over the crashing of the waves a helicopter can be heard. It descends out of sight behind the Dive Centre Cafe that rests at the foot of the Ogden Point breakwater. Soon I will walk out that breakwater. But not yet. Instead I stand perched atop a retaining wall as waves crash and run by my feet. The rise and fall, the occasional surge and splash accompanying this high tide that liberates several large pieces of driftwood and floats them out on their journey. Thirty feet in front of me the waves are rolling a log over and over. It looks like a fir log that has seen it's share of adventure and abuse. The pounding this log has received leaves hairlike pieces of wood sticking out in many directions. It has also been burned in three spots.

Four giant seals emerge from the water. The sunlight gleams off of their black neoprene skin. They remove their neon yellow flippers and oxygen tanks, and then walking to the foot of the breakwater, descend out of sight. Still the waves continue to pummel, churn, and impact the wall at my feet, then direct themselves to my right where a twisted and tangled ball of bull kelp awaits. The waves keep coming but it is time for me to go.


Relocated I sit on the rocks at the foot of the breakwater. The gulls cry at me from their rock. Be it greeting or warning I know not. In either case I still enjoy the sound. Wings furled and feathers puffed up, they stand on their splayed webbed feet. One preening itself with it's beak. The other beak parked behind a wing for warmth. Or maybe it's shy and self-conscious? Or attempting to be alluring? My money's on warmth. Four pidgeons have landed around me. A nervous man could be intimidated by this sudden shift in numbers. Zero pidgeons to Four in the blink of an eye. But in another blink they are gone. They knew they had met their better in me. Across the straight a sunlit line of clouds glows in front of the snow capped, cloud shrouded, peaks. And a Canadian Naval boat cruises through view. The sun goes behind a cloud and I notice the chilliness. Time to move again.

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