The winter slipped by Halibut Point without much of the usual seasonal hardship, though the sea water often resembles a forbidding liquid crystal. Somehow that deep and chilling beauty draws me into union with itself. My temporal life separates from it just far enough to feel the joy of individuality, and the awesome recognition that my particle of consciousness will one day be re-absorbed to the infinite. Staring into the omnivorous sea brings on a hypnotic, seductive, repellant vertigo.
As tides recede the cold wind and waves freeze water in singular ways commanding "Look at me!" while gulls mind their own business overhead.
Puddles of meltwater go their own crystal way under starlight when the solar torch diverts to the other side of the world.
In the morning new masterworks of ice sculpture appear on the cliffs of Folly Cove.
The surface of the Babson Farm Quarry generates its own intrigues as water changes state from life-giving liquid to inert, cryptic solid.
The Quarry cliffs host their own cryogenic ornaments wherever water flows out of seams to glaciate in wintry air.
Seasonal adaptations turn cedar foliage from jade-green to bronze,
but the winter was mild enough to support Yellow-rumped Warblers along the rim of the Quarry,
and to keep this White-footed mouse from retreating into full hibernation.
This year's mild temperatures and infrequent snow will have varied impact on local organic life, and may be related to larger global shifts.
At a time when an invisible virus has emptied metropolitan streets, the underlying realities of nature promise an enduring universe outside the realm of desire.
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