I’ve always been drawn to border places—the meeting of land and sea; salt and fresh; night and day… in physical as well as less tangible senses, they’re fertile grounds of shifting demarcations. They speak to me.
Last week, Tripp (probably sensing I needed a respite from fires/record heat/the consequent emotions) sent me to a stretch of the Pacific where fog enhanced a feeling of isolation, where waiting out the tide broke a 12-hour hike, where waves wiped the beaches of the footfall of those in front of me. My soul needed this place.
Here are some of my favorite scenes. The Peregrine Falcon is perched on the continent’s last piece of driftwood… I’ve seen Peregrines almost every day since I left Traverse City this summer, even in places where I don’t expect them (and eBird doesn’t expect them, either!) They are beginning to feel like travel companions, very cool travel companions that I feel somewhat undeserving of.
