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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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Still Noticing, Collecting (Detour 13)
We spent the third weekend in January at the coast, an extended family tradition–long walks, seafood, puzzles, wine. Walks remembered and compared; stones retrieved from tide pools, examined, mulled, returned– dropped gently, perhaps, or absentmindedly; or flung full-armed into the further surf, that pitcher’s arc none of us ever truly mastered. Remembered others’ beach traditions…