Rain
Its a quiet morning on the east side of San Juan Island. A long needed rain has soaked the fluffy new garden bed. But today didn't start with the scenery of fog, kelp, rocks and seals below the house. It stared with the process of waking up at Annie's house. It was a soft slow arrival back to the hard futon. Back to life from restful unconscious dream threads to the sharp, fitful ideas that I better get a job, a house and get a winter garden started and the shards of anxiety left over from lasts weeks layoff. While Im looking at the intersection of the past chapters Ive had in the islands and the possibility of a new one I,m seeing some clear and contrary themes that being fiddling, gardening, sailing and archaeology Thats a tough intersection. Being a lifelong gardener, the loving care of flower beds link you to the seasonal joys of a rooted place and building up soil. The down side being tedious hot summer hours spent coiling hoses up against the summer houses with their compelling views of white sails and blue water. Sea fever. There are many muses found in the tramp life of an archaeologist, sailor and fiddler. Maps and charts and the wind in my face and clean finger nails. Song of the open road and the joys of fiddling under a full summer moon far from the surf.
The fog is lifting and the misty outline of the islands is resolving into trees and houses on the far
shoreline across the channel.
