of shadows and sand

Sometimes I'm a shadow and the sea is not much more.

Sometimes I write haiku because it comes on the breeze.

pillows of sea foam--
rainbow sparks until drifting,
vanishing sand clouds

Sometimes I love this world.

Moment of inhale

Rocks shift. Clacking, grating underfoot. Overhead, two gulls flap and screech at the wind. The air is filled with wild hints of briny depths.
Breakers rear and roar, then finish with a swish and hiss. Fingers of white water drag small rocks in a clattering mass.

Everyone is looking for what the sea spit out. Kelp is strewn like golden entrails. A few tough shells, built for battering, lie spent in the tiny patches of sand.

I find a quarter, it's markings obscured by a layer of hard green and brown tarnish.

The sea gives and takes back and gives again.

Yesterday, the sea gave me setting and atmosphere for my novel-in-progress. I may not have written words in the manuscript, but I found them while I basked in the sun that followed the storms. I hope you found inspiration in those moments of inhale, too.

P.S. After posting this, I realized I should mention that I also went to a boat marina to pick up some more inspiration for that story. I wandered into a yacht dealership, not the sort of place I frequent, and met a very nice man who tried to answer my questions and gave me a magazine full of useful information and pictures. You never know what you will find by looking and reaching out. *smiles*

A little haiku for friends

Today's post is simple but from the heart. I promised Shannon Messenger some poetry in honor of Lisa Schroeder's release of CHASING BROOKLYN.

In the spirit of fun, I was going to post some zombie haiku, but with the suffering in Haiti right now, I'm in no mood for zombies. So instead, I've dusted off two other haiku and found some photos in my vault that at least catch the spirit of the sea and the solace I find there.

pewter sky and sea

cut by the steel-edge

dive of a pelican

translucent waves break,

churn past black mussel hedges

of a limpet town

(I know, I know. This is a sea anemone that I shot in San Clemente and not the tide pool I found in Ireland that inspired those words. But you forgive me, right?)

Shannon has a great interview with Lisa, tons of fun and a contest going on at Ramblings of a Wannabe Scribe, so go check it out. And be sure to visit Lisa Schroeder for her current guest author musing on dreams. Lisa's books, by the way, have nothing to do with zombies. They are lyrical tales of loss and love and renewal. Please forgive me if I'm the one rambling today.

(Blogger is really messing up the line breaks. I don't know if I can fix it)

The sound of adjustment

I'm going to a favorite beach this morning to walk before I undertake some stressful family duties. Sea air and the whoosh and boom of waves seem to both energize and soothe me.

What I really want is that external barrage on my senses--to still the yapping of my mind, to quell anxiety, to give me strength for the trials--and for a sad weight I'm carrying in my heart for another friend's family.

I have no idea what the beach will be like, although I did check my tide guide, which says I'll get there between the high and low tides today. If the tide is high at this beach, I walk on a trail east of railroad tracks. If the tide is low, I can go barefoot along the shore. Although it might be cold on the toes today.

The other thing that happens at this beach is periodic deposit of rocks and pebbles, all worn smooth by the grinding of surf but still too much for bare feet.

What I love about the rocky days is the sound. Have you heard it? The clattering of stones as they shift with the rush in and trickle out of each hissing, sighing wave?

What sounds do you hear? How would you write it?

Clack. Rattle. Clink.

Chatter. Can rocks chatter? I think so.

I'm listening for them to tell me how to adjust to the tides of life.

Musing on a scene

The world ended at the horizon, a fact drawn in detail on maps that piled high and vexed librarians who had run out of drawer space.

But small ships, lured by curiosity or fate, sailed like lemmings day after day into that unknown. If they ever returned, there is no record. But it's whispered that they must have sailed right into an ocean of clouds, the air-borne sea at earth's end.

Sometimes there were gales, and other days the wind was but a breeze, gently puffing out the sails and ruffling the silvery water with naught but ripples.

Into this pewter realm the mortal seafarers squinted their eyes into the glare and licked salt from their lips, intent only upon the mystery.

This is an eerie photo I took into the sun's glare. If you imagine another tiny tale, share, please!

I might be all wet but I'm having fun

Having spent some contemplative time recently along the shore I gave thought to how I approach life, and, of course, writing--which is integral to my life.

Am I a fisherwoman or a surfer?

Both require patience and skill but one seems more passive, the other aggresive. I'm sure some people would debate this, especially since a fisherman reeled in a Great White Shark in San Diego last week! That ought to get muscles pumping, adrenaline surging.

But mainly, fishing is passive compared to surfing. I'm not trying to say one is better. Fishing can yield sustenance. Surfing results in endorphin rush. Both give personal satisfaction. I've done both but not in a long time.

As a writer, if I wait quietly like a fisherman, ideas may leap up from the deep, filled with energy. And if I sit bobbing on the water, waiting to see the dark rise of a building wave, then put myself in position and paddle hard, I might catch a most amazing swell.

Either way, patience and preparedness are key. Do you see yourself or your writing as fishing or surfing? Or am I hopelessly waterlogged?

Sea-struck

I went to the sea for enlightenment and found a lost world, a hidden seadom, the pillars that hold up our world. See how the ocean is supported by those pilings? Did you know about this? It's simply amazing to think I've walked the shore so many times and never glimpsed it's secret underpinings.

Gotta think that the designers and engineers realized that the weight and movement of such a vast amount of water would require serious structural elements.

Kinda like a story. How's that for a segue?

So what's the story of this shimmery land beneath the ocean? Tell me, I'm dying to hear what you think.

Sea me

Sometimes you gotta just stare out to sea and contemplate your next move.

I'm there right now. Whether it's another chapter of rewrite, the next blog or life stuff, I'm needing some stare time.

So I'm taking off for a couple of days to deal with some things and find enlightenment.

I leave you with this vista.