Stream of Consciousness

June 10, 2019

Almost everyday, I walk the labradoodle down a graveled road to a trail leading to the beach. The shaded trail is usually damp. The stink from the rotting sea lion carcass at the base of the cliff is most pronounced by a large fir tree next to the trail.

Passing through the stink, the trail widens to the makeshift steps carved into the cliff face. Ropes reclaimed from the beach are anchored to tree stumps and limbs and two metal fence poles. A finely crafted series of steps made from material found on the beach was washed away during winter storm surges at high tides.

Carefully stepping down the eroded steps, I follow the leaping doodle through the log jam onto the sandy beach. He waits for me to fling his much flung ball toward the ocean. Snatching the ball on a bounce, the doodle returns to me running through the water of a creek. Dropping the ball in my vicinity, the doodle runs up and down the creek, scooping water with his snout.

The creek flows down the cliff onto the beach, around and over large and small rounded rocks. The sound of the falling water can be heard over the wind and surf noise. Driftwood moved by the last high tide, dams the water, forming a small pool. The scene is peaceful and memorable.

What was weeks before a gushing stream, fueled by spring rain and runoff, has diminished. It will continue to lessen through the dryness of summer. By late summer of early fall, the stream may become a trickle, or it might stop.

As I continue to fling the ball for the doodle, my 70 plus year old mind recognizes that my life is much like the stream. It still flows, not as vigorously, but steady not yet a trickle. The doodle jumps reminding me that I am here to throw the ball.

First Time Long Time

June 9, 2019

Here is where I can deposit the material mined from my mind. It might be valuable or it might be detritus. You decide.

I hope to post daily.