Yesterday we had a short reprieve between storms: the sun shone, the wind dropped and the sea settled to a mirror calm. Mt. Baker glowed on the far side of the Salish Sea.
But best of all is the sweep of clouds, with the small pale moon visible beyond them, to the left of centre frame.
A fishing vessel pushing through the Pass against the flooding tide; the rippled water silvered by the sunlight making for a stark contrast against the shadowed hillside of Mayne Island.
The colours of the morning sun most certainly are golden. Here the arbutus and cedars display their stunning colour, texture and shapes. The warmth of the colours belies the chill of the day.
Wandering out to Flagpole Point after sunset, the glow was still bright, and the water magnified the beauty in reflection...
The colours last night were intense — so lovely I felt I wanted to share this glimpse of the awesome beauty of nightfall.
The smooth water, contrasted with the shapes of the sandstone and logs... a pleasing mix, in the morning's light, of shape and texture. Maybe it's an indication of what the day holds —
Among the benefits of early rising is the gorgeous sunrises we get here: always different—
On the particular morning of this photo, the patterns of light and colour in the cloud captivated me and inspired this work of 'photo art'.
The wide open canvas of the sky, and the extravagant swirl of cloud...
I stand here, small, waiting and in awe of what is given today even before I begin.
It looks like the forecast is matching what we saw as the sun rose this morning. Heavy rain and wind are in the offing. Meanwhile —there was a blaze of glory in the early light.
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I’ve added a few adjustments to this iPhone photo with Photoshop and Topaz Simplify get the image closer to what my 'eye' saw.
Such a Novemberish outlook this morning. Misty rain, and dim light. Everything shades of blue and grey with a tinge of green as I look out over the water. The mist hangs on the trees. The quiet blankets the coastline. But for the lapping waves and the occasion call of an eagle or gull — only silence.
This Sunday marks the beginning of a new season (Advent), and I love that the season of expectation, of hanging on a promise, begins in these days of still descending into the darkness. Of quiet. Though the department stores, grocery stores, and gift shops will play their ubiquitous ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ and blended carols, its not quite time to celebrate. First this season. First waiting. In the dimmer light. Even in the dark. With hope.
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These last three days have provided spectacular wave watching as the strong North East outflow wind crossed the Salish Sea whipping the waves to a fury of 'white horses'. The collision of water and rock made great sprays and splashes, as the rollers moved in steadily.
The light of the rising sun through the cresting waves was a beautiful green and to me it seemed a jubilant dance of light and water.
This afternoon the wind's dropped, the sea has calmed and life returns to a semblance of 'normal', though definitely with a more wintry chill.
