[mine -- more on my flickr]

Today I walked through Stanley Park to the beach -- I started at a lake where I saw herons and damselflies. And some propeller planes which kept passing overhead. I walked through the forest past all of the great roots -- almost indecent the way they were exposed (I know now about the storm that came and whipped them up two years ago). And there was so much moss -- so soft and springy and I kept thinking of the tiny little colonies -- miniature forests. And ferns and beautiful green light sifting down through the leaves. And every tree was a great tree -- like in To Catch a Thief when Grace Kelly tells Cary Grant that she's sure all his trees must be sequoias.

And then I suddenly heard gulls and voices and emerged from under the canopy and onto the beach!

I laid down on some drifted logs and read, then shut my eyes and watched the light on the inside of my eyelids change. The logs smelled a bit like mint and then I wondered if pitch smelled like mint. I brought a few seashells home. There were many many purple shells and much dried seaweed. It was all very crunchy underfoot. And there were vacant barnacles -- little clusters of abandoned homes. And I thought about that image I love of tidal pools -- and how the anenomes and the creatures living in them just wait for the tide to bring what it will. And then mid-way round the seawall, I started to see stacks of rocks -- like those cairns on quiet and dangerous mountain trails. They must have been stacked by someone, but there was no hand visible now.

But my feet began to hurt as I walked out of the park and then as soon as steel and glass and crowds came into view it was all gone -- but that's the way of things.