Not all of life is poetry--some is comfortable as prose. I've been up for about an hour, and have already taken a selfie in excellent light from a bathroom window of the beach house, made my ma-te, and rescued a frog that had been trapped in the beach house for a couple of weeks, but we had never been able to locate the origin of his croaking. He was a little guy, with sticky feet. I edited said selfie, and settled back to admire the ocean, which is too high at the moment to allow walking on the beach. The clouds promise rain, which we had also yesterday. Even so, Betty (our sweet dog) and I had a wonderful walk. In the course of the walk, I found an amazing moth on the beach, unable to fly. I photographed it, and we moved on.
What will this new day bring? Life at the beach is like nothing else, but I'll also be translating (which is also like nothing else). I'm halfway through a very unique text, and the work is its own reward. Hopefully, when the tide goes out we'll get another wonderful beach walk. Life, too, is its own reward. A wonderful day to all of you.
