anghara (anghara) wrote,


Went to Deception Pass yesterday - when we got there it was like I'd never seen the place before, thick cloud EVERYWHERE - it was a ghost bridge in a ghost sky over a ghost sea, unless you were ON the structure you couldn't see it was there and *when* you were on the structure you couldn't see anything else at all and you might as well have been suspended in some odd heavenly waiting room waiting for God to call your name. I tried to take pictures. I have no idea if the ghost images came out, haven't downloaded them yet. If any come out well enough to make public, I'll share.

But... we also climbed down to the pebble beaches along the shore below the bridge.

We walked in forests dripping with moisture (you should have seen it when the sun managed to peer out from beyond the clouds, all fairy rainbows along the branches...) and alive with birdsong. We trod the path down to the shore, onto the pebbles and the sand and the driftwood bleached from sun and age, down to the edge of an ocean which broke clean and lucid over the stones. I could smell salt and sea and clean air and cedar sap.

I watched the beautiful ocean.

And I thought about you, Louisiana. About you, Florida. And I thought about what this beach might look like if that gusher was in Puget Sound instead of the Gulf of Mexico. And my heart broke, and I felt guilty for being grateful that this part of the world is still the way that God has made it.

I was just reading more news coverage of the Gulf. Things seem to be getting worse, not better. This cannot be fixed, it seems - things have been so screwed up by the costcutting measures that would maximise company profits that we might lose the WORLD for the chasing of the almighty dollar.

Can you conceive of a lifeless ocean? I'm starting to get an inkling of what that might be like.

And I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it that I am a part of the species which has done this, which can do this, and then cannot find a way to make it right.

Oh, dear God, you beautiful Puget Sound. Will there come a day that I remember that moment of clear water, and it exists only in that quiet grief-laden patch of my memory....? I almost can't bear the thought of that...
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