Death Valley, that is! I'm heading west today for a short wander in Death Valley National Park. I hope to be updating my journal from the road, but whether I will have web access is questionable.
Please look in on my wanderings in my journal, A return to death.
I'm wandering with my camera, happy...
Morning brought an end to yesterday's endless wet. Instead of rain, the wind prevailed, a howling wind, a wind that swept clouds across the sky. It was a day of cooling temperatures, a good day for walking...
The leaves are down, the colors have faded, and yet... there are still visible patches of green.
I haven't been able to turn left into or out of my drive since the end of May. A relatively short chunk of road has been under construction for far too long. And finally... yesterday the left turn restriction was removed. How nice! Now I no longer need to go in a circle when I simply wanted to turn left.
The new puzzle? I noticed signs on the pavement that imply a bicycle will trigger a change in the (currently non-existent) traffic light. It looks like a new light is about to be installed. And there are bicycle "spots" on the pavement, indicating that my bicycle and I will be able to get the light to change. I've been suspicious of these pavement markings for a while, thinking that they were just a placebo as opposed to a way for me to get a red light to turn green. It will be very interesting to see if this set of markings really hide a trigger. That would be a real change; I can't tell you how many times I've had to go through red lights because there was no way for my bicycle to trigger a light change. In fact, one of the locations where I regularly stop, looks, and ride across on red is right in front of a police station.
Sometimes there isn't anything you can do except to be there, to offer silent support.
This past weekend was consumed by a quick trip to upstate New York. It was a time to be with family, and a time to be frustrated by not being able to help. My dad had emergency surgery last week, and what he needs now is time to heal. It was hard to accept that there isn't anything I can do that will speed the process of getting better. Time will help, time, good medical care, the presence of friends and family, time...
I was there, a silent observer, there to offer aid if needed, there to send healing thoughts. Each day brings more strength, more healing.
I felt a need to wander today, to hear the ocean, to see fading autumn colors. I headed to Parker River National Wildlife Refuge for some walking and camera play. I haven't been back since my first visit in April; somehow visits to the ocean feel right in the cooler seasons. There weren't too many people there when I visited before, and there were even fewer today.
Walking, peering through the plants to see flitting birds, stopping to chat with the few other people who were wandering too. The trail, really the boardwalk, near the Hellcat Wildlife Observation Area kept my attention for a while. Then I headed out to the beach, a beach I wasn't able to see on my last visit. Why? It's a piping plover nesting area, and as noted on the refuge's web site:
It was a joy to walk to and on this very deserted beach. As my feet covered the boardwalk leading to the beach, I could hear the sound of waves crashing. I found an almost empty beach, miles of sand with only 2 other people within view. Sand, birds, waves pounding, water making shapes in the sand..."Each year the entire 6.3 miles (10.1 kilometers) of refuge beach is closed to all public entry beginning April 1 to provide undisturbed nesting and feeding habitat for the piping plover, a shorebird species threatened with extinction. Portions of the beach not being used by the birds may be reopened beginning July 1. Typically all sections are reopened by mid-late August."
I'm not ready for the change in seasons, for cooler temperatures, for shorter days.
Change is coming though, and there is beauty in the changes. Bright colors are fading, lingering flowers pose against autumn-toned backgrounds, leaves are falling leaving skeletons of trees.
Sometimes it looks like someone has been painting the sky. Early morning, sun rising, backlighting, clouds...
