It had been raining earlier, but now all that was left was a heavy cloud cover, shot with filtered sunbeams. I went down to the shore to see if I could get a photo of the dying light.
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| There was no wind, but the waves were high. They pounded the shore, rolling stones and logs. |
A ways out, a flock of wigeons were resting, rising and falling with the waves. They were too far away to see clearly, except as a sprinkling of black dots.
I walked for an hour on the beach, listening to the roar and rumble of the stones, splashed with spray when a big wave came too close to my narrow path. As I returned to the car, I noticed a small flock of wigeons that had ventured closer to shore, close enough to be caught by the breaking waves.
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| They like sheltered water. They're asking for trouble here. |
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| Wave coming. |
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| Uh - oh! |
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| Walking on water? |
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| Wigeons in a blender |
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| Flee! |
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| "And we're outta here!" |
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