Princeton Harbor

The tide is out now, exposing sand mud flats that make ripples and tease sea gulls up and down the beach.  Gold flakes catch the sun and glare up at you from the sand; upon reaching down the flecks disappear into ordinary grains of sediment.  Kelp and seaweed litter the landscape, stinking and saturated from under the water's surface; a green brighter than the surrounding hillsides.  Birds walk carefully over the tops of dried sea plants as I sink through cushions of earth, plagued with cold feet, graced with wet sand between my toes. 

At dusk, the sea gull flock that have been exploring the beach fly in unison over the abandoned fishing pier.  Their wings are iridescent, catching the glare from the ocean, caught between water and sky.  The flock will get lost in the fog as my eyes will not be able to follow them past the pier; their iridescence now radiating behind clouds.  This time of year, the water creeps so close to the rip raff and leaves little room for walking; winter storms raged with such drama to bring yachts up into the front garden and keels buried in the sand; plant life ripped from the sea floor and spread across the beach; evidence of nature's unpredictability.

Spotlights from fishing ships will take the place of alarm clocks, waking me several times and interrupting dream cycles.  The drone of the foghorn fades in and out like the tide; depending on the direction of the wind and your familiarity with the harbor, its call gets absorbed by the landscape and by one's ears.