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Night Herons on the Dock
Around 7:00 p.m. last Saturday, full dark solstice evening, we were on the dock in Newport–nicely sated on roasted garlic and Dungeness crab soup, smoked salmon salad, and Prosecco–wanting to stretch our legs and look at the fishing boats before heading back to the inn. The water was full of tiny fish: two inches long,…
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Ice
There generally isn’t a lot of ice where I live now. Enough to skid out in the dark, but not much to photograph–or to describe, since black ice seems to demand an absence of description. It’s an unseeable hazard, or a cold mirage, flip side to the illusory oasis all those cartoon desert stragglers seem…