Blue. Icy blue.

 A view from the shore on a cold, cold afternoon. Icy water and flying blue islands.

Looking east across the northern end of Georgia Strait to the mountains of the mainland.

A Skywatch post.

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Una vista hacia el oeste, mirando las montañas del continente al otro lado del Estrecho Georgia. Con unas islas que parecen volar sobre la superficie del agua. Fue una tarde muy fria.

Cloudy sky

Afternoon clouds over Echo Lake.

With an intriguing whirlpool cloud.

A Skywatch post.

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Nubes sobre el lago Echo. Este es un post de Skywatch; haz clic para ver cielos alrededor del mundo.

Organic breakwater

Hundreds of logs. Thousands. They lie beached between usual high tide line and the most extreme highs, wherever the land slopes gradually down to the water. Some newly arrived, most old-timers, crumbling over the years into woody pulp. These hold down the sand along the Oyster Bay shore near sundown.

And my shadow, as I sat on another log.

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Cientos, miles de troncos viejos. Descansan en la arena entre el nivel superior acostumbrado de la marea y donde llegan las más fuertes tempestades, en dondequiera el terreno baja en declive gradual hacia el mar. Algunos son nuevos; la mayoría tienen años aquí, desintegrándose lentamente hasta formar una masa rojiza. En la foto, cubren y detienen la arena a lo largo de la bahía Oyster cerca de la puesta del sol.

Glimmerings

I've been taking a short break. I'm totally disheartened by the news, local, Canada-wide, and international. The spread of Covid and long Covid, so-called truckers' convoys aiming at bringing down the government (one starting from my town), ongoing climate change, and threatened wars, with very few glimmerings of light to be seen.

It would be nice to be a trapdoor spider. Dig a hole, line it with silk, make a door and pull it tight shut. Not possible. Even trapdoor spiders have to live in this world.

Maybe the opposite tactic would work. Open eyes, look at sea and sky and light.

Ahhh!

And tomorrow sunrise is at 7:35 AM. Glimmerings of light.

A Skywatch post.

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He estado descansando un poco, dejando el blog por unos dias. Estoy tan desanimada por las noticias, tanto locales como en todo Canadá, e internacionales. El Covid, su aumento y el Covid-largo, las llamadas protestas de camioneros tratando de tumbar el gobierno (un convoy hasta salió de mi pueblo), el cambio climático que no deja de aumentar, la amenaza de guerra internacional ... Y no se ven muchas chispas de luz en todo eso.

Quisiera ser, tal vez, una araña terafosa: hacerme un hoyo, forrarlo de seda, construir una puerta y cerrarla contra el mundo. No es posible. Hasta las arañas tienen que vivir en este mundo.

O mejor, tomo el sendero opuesto: abrir los ojos y mirar el cielo, las nubes, el mar, la luz que ilumina todo.

Foto: cielo y mar y en la distancia, mi pequeña ciudad.

Y mañana, el sol aparece a las 7:35. ¡Más luz!

Smiley sky

 A smile, reflected.

Oyster Bay, with green-winged teals. And happy clouds.

A Skywatch post. Go check out skies around the world!

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Una sonrisa se refleja en la bahía. Los patos son otros patos serranos.

Y esto fue otro post para Skywatch. Haz clic, y ve, mira los cielos alrededor del mundo entero.

The view above

And it's raining again, since yesterday. Most of the snow on trees and slopes is gone, but the high piles, some several metres deep, shovelled out of the way are staying put. Down on the street, taking out the trash for the morning collection, I slipped on ice, sank my shoe in running ice water, pounded the recycling bin into a snow base, wrestled a tipped bin off the lane open (sort of) for traffic, and took the safer way back, wading calf-deep through the edge of the piled snow. We are so lucky, a Vancouver Sun article years ago reminded us; with our weather, even taking out the trash is an adventure!

But two days ago, we had blue and white skies.

Sky over Baikie Island slough

Catching my breath after plowing through new snow, I leaned on a stump and looked up.

The slough from another vantage point.

A Skywatch post.

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Y ya volvió la lluvia. 24 horas y sigue todavía. La nieve en los árboles y en el terreno inclinado ha desaparecido, pero los montones, algunos alzándose bien arriba de nuestras cabezas, resisten el agua; permancecerán por mucho tiempo. Abajo en la calle, dejando la basura para la recolección en la mañana, me resbalé sobre hielo, empapé los zapatos con agua helada, hundí el bote del reciclaje en la nieve, luché con el bote grande que se había caído para impedir el paso de coches, ya de por sí difícil, y de regreso para evitar resbalarme otra vez en el hielo, me trepé al borde del montón de nieve apilada. Y con ese poco tiempo bajo la lluvia, tuve que colgar mi chamarra en el baño, que ya goteaba. ¡Tanta suerte tenemos —nos recordaba hace años una carta en el periódico Vancouver Sun — con nuestra clima, hasta sacar la basura llega a ser toda una aventura!

Pero hace apenas dos dias, el cielo estaba limpio, azul y blanco.

Fotos:

1. Mirando el cielo sobre el pantano de la Isla Baikie.
2. Recuperando el aliento después de romper camino entre la nieve, me apoyé en un tronco y miré el cielo.
3. Otra vista del pantano, desde otro punto de vista.

Este es un post de Skywatch, donde la gente sube fotos de los cielos desde todo el mundo. Vale la pena visitar el sitio.

Sundown from Willow Point

Rocks, water, and the faintest touch of pink.

Facing the mainland, with the sun dropping behind the trees at my back.

4:56 PM. Sunset was at 5:15, but the sun was gone behind the hills before then.

A Skywatch post.

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Piedras, algas marinas, agua y un toque de color de rosa, durante la puesta del sol, desde Willow Point. Mirando hacia el este, con el sol medio escondido tras los árboles a mis espaldas.
Eran las 4:56 de la tarde; la puesta del sol fué a las 5:15, pero antes de eso el sol ya había desaparecido atrás de los cerros.

Double sky.

It stopped raining. The sun came out; the sky turned blue. A brief respite. By mid-afternoon, the rain had returned. But I and half the town dashed out to soak in a bit of sunshine. On Tyee Spit, a constant stream of couples and kids took the path to the bird blind. I joined them.

View from the blind. Even the industrial complex on the far side of the estuary looks good!

Tomorrow: chasing mallards.

A Skywatch post.

Blue mountains

Seen from the highway from Zeballos, heading east on a rainy evening.

Trees on the brown mountain on the left look like they're beetle kill. In the foreground: fireweed, daisies, and red elderberry, ripe.

The road in from the main highway (#19) is gravel. 42 kilometres of potholes, washboard, and fish-tailing on loose stones. Earlier in the afternoon, everything near the road was covered with grey dust, but now, after a heavy rain, it's green again.

More about this Sunday afternoon drive tomorrow.

A Skywatch post

Study in blues

On a grey afternoon, with rain clouds.

Even the fishermen's boat is blue.

Clouds over Quadra Island

A brief moment of sunshine over the water ...

Blue clouds, white clouds

In mid-channel, a loon and mostly invisible diving birds are fishing.

And then the rain came back.

A Skywatch post

Dawn, with wires

As the days shrink, dawn comes later and later. This was first light, at 7:32, from my kitchen window.

Sunrise was at 7:22.

"Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning." Or so they say; after this orange and purple dawn, the day was beautiful, calm and warm.

A Skywatch post.

Just another perfect day.

It looks like summer has (more or less) arrived.

Clouds and sail. Looking east, towards the mainland.

A Skywatch post.

Storm clouds

Darkness in mid-afternoon. As the camera saw it.

Suits my mood. Stormy weather ahead.

A Skywatch post.

Summer sky

With rocks.

And the tide coming in.

Sandstone, seaweed, barnacles.

A Skywatch post.

Dreaming of a (Pale) Blue Christmas

Christmas Day, 2014, on the banks of the Nicomekl River, at Blackie Spit.

Looking north, at near high tide.

Palest blues, reflecting their light on the crow's belly.

Floats marking off the dog-free zone. All of it dog free, now at high tide.

Gull

'nother gull, matching the greys of the clouds.

Tree lace

And the sun was warm, the air cool and fresh, the gulls peaceful. The perfect afternoon, between bouts of Christmas pandemonium. Hope your day was as happy!

A Skywatch post.

In a playful mood

Clouds over Boundary Bay, last week:

Sometimes we forget how tiny we are, how puny!

But we huddle together for protection, and smile when the clouds are playing.

A Skywatch post.

Winged clouds

Sky over Point Roberts, this afternoon.

The two black specks, centre left, are a crow pestering an eagle.

A Skywatch post.

Baker's dozen; beauty and beasties

Random moments from our May wanderings:

Banana slug eating a faded leaf, Cougar Canyon

Columbine in my garden

Nootka rose, with 4 critters. The orange bee I was following left before I could catch him. Burns Bog.

I've never seen a wasp nest like this one before. Overhead, as we went out our door. About 4 inches long.

Osprey spiderwort, Potter's nursery.

This was strange. It's a short branch off a dead tree; just the stem and then this - thing. A beginning of a burl, maybe?

White flowers under shrubbery beside the road. Unidentified.

Down to the beach . . .

Centennial beach, from the new concession stand.

Mussels, barnacles, and sea lettuce on the rope holding a boat float.

Tide coming in, Crescent Beach

Laughing log? Beach Grove shore.

Glossy water and cloud, Point Roberts.

And more clouds:

Centennial Beach and Point Roberts.

A Skywatch post

Illusions

"Never point your camera at the sun," they say. But rules are made to be broken.

Mid-afternoon, over the White Rock beach.

Why does the horizon sometimes curve upwards? All the explanations I can find say it's an optical illusion, but the camera sees it, and drawing a straight line, edge to edge, leaves a gap in the centre. There must be a better theory!

A Skywatch post.