Sunday, November 1, 2015
My first trip to New England was in 1961 aboard the TWA Constellation. Before jetliners. I had spent more time in a little plane
I wake before sunrise and search with my new high powered binoculars for critters outside. I think I see movement, but it's only a blowing shrub. For the first time I hear the ferry in Provincetown blow its horn three times as it leaves the harbor. It must be because of the direction the wind is blowing that I can actually hear it. I spend most of the day sitting outside on the porch cogitating.
An hour before sunset I hike down to the empty beach. The clouds are clabbering up as they say back home. My professional photographer's eye knows we are in for an unforgettable sunset.
As the sky says its prayer,
When I get back to Euphoria, I light all the oil lamps
An ocean liner is lit up like a chandelier on the black horizon. The shack is so quiet all I can hear is the dripping water filter and the wind whistling. That cold front is coming in.
What was that scratching? I may have a white-footed visitor.