Of time travellers and horizons

Maybe it is because I grew up with my toes in the ocean, but I love the look of a distant horizon, with nothing but water for miles. I always take too many photos of water and sky. I love them, then I delete them: what's there to share? A blue screen, with a line across, where the colour changes. Slightly.

When I was a kid, I used to draw the scene outside my window. A line. That was the horizon. A wavy line above; the mountains. A few waves. A gull or two. And a boat over by the horizon. Always the same, with the only variation the positions of gulls and boat. I never got tired of it.

Unfortunately, most people are not so monomaniacal. So I shoot, look, delete.

I kept these photos, though, from our last walk on the beach. They at least have something else going on.

Pink boat float, and slightly pink floating Mount Baker.

That's from my camera, but it was wearing the macro lens, so all the others are from Laurie's point and shoot.

Boats off Point Roberts, and what looks like mini-glaciers calving, but is really sea foam.

Backpacker and dog walking on water, heading out to sea as the tide comes in.

I love photos of people out on the horizon, so far away they shimmer. With our wide, shallow bays, they seem to walk, all in a line, on the surface of the ocean, not sinking, not subject to the rules of our universe, as though they were tourists from the next universe over, or maybe time travellers from the 30th century. Everything about them is strange; their postures, their silence, their pursuits. Where are they going? Where did they come from?

See what I mean about "all in a line"?

Zooming in. Walkers and talkers and one ball thrower.