Ahead of its time

There was frost on my driveway yesterday morning. Ice on a few cars, snow on one, probably from out of town. My summer tires spun on the hillside. I went to get the winter tires put on; late, but I'm a procrastinator; it's what I do.

Tonight it's 5 below zero, Celsius. A normal temperature for this time of year, but it won't hold. They're promising us warmer temperatures for the rest of the week. And rain, of course.

BC fall/winter weather. Can't make up its mind.

A hawthorn tree at Oyster Bay, out on the headland, exposed to the worst of our weather, is confused. Is it winter, or spring? Hard to tell, so the tree is putting out its spring flower buds.

"Yay, spring!"

"Or is it winter?"

Late afternoon at Oyster Bay

In these days, just around the solstice, the sun slides down the sky slowly, so slowly. At this latitude, 50°North, it reaches its highest point at about 1:30 PM, not directly overhead, but at about 64° above the horizon. And sunset comes at 9:30 or thereabouts, so it takes 8 hours to drop those 60°.

At 8:30, the sun is just under 8° over the horizon. And its light is orange. I wandered in the pre-sunset dusk at Oyster Bay.

Hawthorn, half green, half red, side-lit. 8:27 PM.

View from the far side, looking south. The pilings and purple martin nest boxes, normally a dingy grey, look warm in this light. 8:31.

Pilings, eagle, rocks. Looking from the breakwater east across Georgia Strait. 8:32.

New pickleweed plants and sand ripples, inside the breakwater. 8:38 PM.

8:54. The sun no longer reaches this area of the shore, but there's still a reflected mauve light from the sky. Daisies and logs.

Wish I could make the blog "scratch and sniff"

It's not only the birds we come to see on Reifel Island; the full name is "Reifel Island Migratory Bird Sanctuary", but that's a mouthful that mentions only a small part of what is on offer. Because where birds thrive, the land rejoices. We dawdle along the paths, exclaiming over a flower, a line-up of turtles on a log, a wasps' nest, a field of yellow-brown grasses. Frogs plop! into the water (we're lucky if we see the ripples) or ribbit! somewhere in the reeds, seemingly at our feet but never seen. A shady lane is perfumed by a hawthorn tree in full bloom:

A low branch in a dark corner.

Bury your nose in this ...

but watch out for the wasps.

I've got a bulging folder full of photos of this Monday's visit that I must share. But not tonight; it's been a long day, and I'm off to bed. Goodnight!