The wind is blowing strongly outside, so here I sit in my gallery typing away, instead of paddling. I can picture the bay though, a few miles away, with its steady march of white caps racing towards the shore. I know the turn out where there will be a line of cars parked, having disgorged their cargo of wind surfers.
The sun is shining, and the oyster sellers will be doing a brisk business despite the brisk wind. Barbecues will be smoking away as the bivalves sizzle on the hot iron, the air redolent of sauce and sea. The customers will be torn between enjoying the sun and bundling up, as the gusts tear away at them.
It would be a nice time to be out hiking and exploring, if my senses had not already been battered for the past week by the incescent blowing, but it would be miserable for kayaking unless I had an excess of energy for battling the waves and would be satisfied with a one way journey directed by the winds. The camera though would assuredly stay at home. On this sort of day it would be more preoccupation than bosom companion.
So here I sit, quietly in my gallery, listening to the gusting outside my open door, watching the trees wave a merry hello to all who drive by. Their leaves glisten as they twist and turn in the sunlight, not entirely unlike the waters of the bay I am neglecting today.
Tomorrow though, my reservoirs of energy restored, and my soul prepared, kayaking I will go.