And the rain rolls in.
T
his was our last day camping at New Brighton National Park beach. The luxury of time is on our side, yet again blessed with a new day. A time for multiple barefoot explorations and ease I say! The Capitola Bluffs compel me like a needy lover, and I am mesmerized by the beauty and deliciousness of their grandeur. I explore, alone, with my camera at the ready, anxious to discover the treasures that await. Guaranteed. Rain clouds ominous on the horizon, rolling in like the waves which re-dress the beach with each playful kiss. The best kind of lover. Slow, fast, steady, roaring. Ever-wanting, ever-changing.
Like a pixie with delicate wings a kilter, I explore the thundering surf, unearthing the delights of the ocean with a digital click. Light dances, creatures scamper and dart, birds hover in the wind as the zephyr howls with bellowing delight. The rain dances here and there, reluctant to stake a claim until certain I am tucked away in my caravan. And then it releases in full force, grateful for the cathartic blast. My timing is implicit! A half day of glorious adventures on the beach. Seacliff Beach houses the Palo Alto, an incredible concrete ship superstructure, an iconic remnant of glamourous amusements of the past, now a marine sanctuary, broken in its watery tomb. Photos are impossible to capture the true essence of natures beauty, yet I yearn to encapsulate the moment when my mind forgets that all is perfect in the world, just as she is.
And still the rain continues. We celebrate with a scrumptious dinner with our friend Pete, and share in drunken stories of glorious times of past and future travel, grounded in the present by the droning yet blanketing downpour.
