The Sea Was Angry That Day...

There’s a roiling going on in the waters off of Quadra Island as I write this.  The sea in the strait has been up-and-at-it since early this morning, sending long manes of froth towards land in poised, persistent tries to capture the shore. Anything seems possible as the waves arch up, out towards the middle, but once close in to the rocky beach, they relent, heed the hard, higher island, and cower under the towering scorn of the trees guarding their roots. 

I’ve been staring out to the water for most of the day; its’ power and grace, hypnotizing. The sound is of continuous Neptunian thrash, and I would gladly take it instead of the irritating cacophony of the damned pickup trucks back home– tires yowling on the pavement as their captains, anatomically short-changed, posturing males, find relief in their illusion of conquering asphalt with a led foot and a can of Red Bull (Yawn). Now and then, a seal pops his head up here over the watery furrows; round-headed like some water-polo hero looking for the rest of his team. The humpback whales, I’m told, were through here earlier this morning. Did I mention the Bald Eagle? Would you despise me if I did?

 I suppose you could get tired of this if, perhaps, you were a bulk-headed thundering moron. This part of the world is a treasure. But don’t get me wrong, I can be moved by the sight of an eastern field of wheat feathering in an evening breeze. I love an Ontario fence line set out with snow drifts like fancy serviettes folded to impress, but on this trip, I am soaking up everything about this forested gem. Right now, there is nothing on, or about this island that makes me grit my teeth, except for the leaving of it.