Wednesday, 19 August 2015

Butterscotch sunset

Restoring Demeter's wifi proved a simple matter - persuading her to phone the gentleman who installed it for her was rather less so. Our major concern was that younger daughter was using her phone to access the internet instead. I'm not looking forward to her next phone bill, but then I'm not looking forward to much, anyway.

On my final evening in the house-sit, the fog-horns beckoned, and I set off on my last walk around Ross Bay.
The setting sun shone quite brightly through the thin layer of mist which hung like a cheesecloth over the trees lining the cemetery. The sky was a light lemon yellow.
Bodies from the cemetery used to get washed out to sea quite regularly. The beach along Ross Bay has been artificially shored up with pebbles. There was a reasonably strong surf this evening, and I stood watching the waves build in sequences of three or four, retreating with a sucking hiss that sounded like hundreds of rattling marbles.

It's like labour pains, I thought.
By the time I turned east to return, the tips of my fingers felt like they do in a Hades October. There was a pall over Oak Bay - a rain cloud or smoke from distant forest fires? The mountains across Juan de Fuca Strait turned pale pink.

When I retrieved the laundry from the line, it was damper than when I had hung it up.

No comments: