Monday morning sunrise. A temporary clearing to the east made it possible to confirm that yes indeed the sun rose where it always does on the equinoxes, amidst the henge of field lights over in Shane Park.
I went out to the Lower Elwha rez to check in at the tribal library for a little while, then headed... well, which way to go was the question. I wanted to go to the ocean, but really, all I wanted to do was go home and read my book. So west I went, yes, but all I did when I got to Rialto Beach was find a nice log to lean against, with a nice bank of soft pebbles under me, and read. No First Beach staring at the horizon—I let those stealthy grey whales appear or not without any witness from me. No detour up the Sol Duc River to see if the steelhead are jumping at Salmon Cascades (they probably are). No long vigorous walkies. No ANYTHING. Just Rialto again, and a book.
When it got rain-showery I tried to head home (since I couldn't read any more), but kept stopping instead of actually leaving the beach, sitting on this log and that. Once I was gone, I wouldn't be there anymore, and how could I do that.
Title of post is a Bob Dylan soundbyte from— oh my Lord— 1964, which was darn near 50 years ago...
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