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Thursday, July 8, 2010

Day 33: No Rain

I got the lyrics to No Rain by Blind Melon stuck in my head this morning. My life isn't pretty plain, but I wish it was. And, I've always liked "watching the puddles gather rain". Even here, where the nearly constant rains of a coastal peninsula make it difficult to get work done, I like it. The hills with their stunted pines, and the muskeg with its tiny mosses and lichens are swathed in a cool grayness that inspires a calm quietness in me. It makes me want to curl up under a warm quilt, "pour some tea for two and speak my point of view". Though sometimes I wonder if it's sane, and I have no one to share tea with.

It's a sharp contrast to the hectic noises of the crowded farmhouse, which is deliciously homey, welcoming all, but maybe not quite what I need right now. Yesterday I moved out of the shared trailer home to an a-frame tent that's better suited for one. Hopefully, I can get a little more desperately desired solitude that way. The lands are so epically strange and beautiful here. When I can get some time alone with them, they awe and move me.

This evening I slipped away for a little while to run errands. I took a short detour to see the sunset from the beach. The crests of the harbor's small waves, the wet sand, and the snow on the mountains across the bay shone with the brilliant white fire of fresh rays of sunlight, the first to break through the cloud cover all day. Then I headed to Homer for essentials, beer and ice cream. By the time I reached the scenic overlook at the town's welcome sign, enough clouds had cleared to showcase
Homer in all the radiant glory that won it such fame. Breathtaking. Heart-stopping. Mind-boggling. Now I truly understand why people want to live here year round.
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