With Red Pony and thus the kayak quarantined waiting for the required part to arrive, my dawn explorations of Crescent City’s Pebble Beach were on foot.
It was still really foggy again on this morning anyway.
Ambient temperatures in the low fifties were a tad chilly for this heat acclimated desert rat but I paddled my feet in the lacy sea foam anyway, scattering gulls with abandon.
Pebble Beach is probably thus named because the waves deposit beautiful smoothed black pebbles, many shot through with white veins.
I walked far down the beach, filling my pockets with pebbles. There were not many shells and I also found no sea glass.
Though I had read that this is a popular beach, no one besides myself and the sea birds were leaving footprints on the sand at this early hour.
It wasn’t a kayak paddle or a walk in a Redwood grove but it was lovely and meditative in a monochrome mystic, aka very foggy, kind of way. A dawn experience of the Pacific Ocean being very, well, pacific.
Attempting some yoga asana practice on that peaceful early morning beach I discover that my balance is really bad. Thrown off by fog or the long days of driving or the restlessness of waves or restlessness of mind? Who knows?
Sometimes it’s all just dancing in the dark. Or murky light as the case may be.
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