a2zen
03-26-2013, 02:35 PM
Waiting for La Niña
21135Finally, the satellite image showed a storm nearing the Pacific coast. January and February had been dry with record heat, so there might not be many more chances to experience the fierce majesty. If she jumped in her camper van now, she might get to the coast before the front made landfall.
Passing the Cape Fear Café in Duncans Mills she imagined a sign: “Now Entering the Pacific Watershed” and felt a rush of anticipation. She parked her camper high on a bluff above Jenner-by-the-Sea right at the rim of the continent.
alone and all one
wave and ocean surge ashore
smoothing the edge
From the wild horizon it arrived: electricity in thunderheads, rain then hail pelting the roof, the camper buffeted by gusts. It was nature throwing a pebble at her window. She donned her rain gear and scrambled down to play with the driftwood.
stormy beach
thousands of shore birds
not many flying
And later, all dry and snug with a hot-water bottle, she gazes west and daydreams of dolphins and dead zones, salmon and redwoods, Japan and Zen temples.
“To find the self, you must lose the self,” Dogen said.
surfing below the surface
stories rise from silence
-- images in a darkroom
And there, in the eye of a storm on the Pacific Rim, she loses herself in a place that knows no yearning and refuses nothing -- like a cliff or an ocean.
- andrew zarrillo
21135Finally, the satellite image showed a storm nearing the Pacific coast. January and February had been dry with record heat, so there might not be many more chances to experience the fierce majesty. If she jumped in her camper van now, she might get to the coast before the front made landfall.
Passing the Cape Fear Café in Duncans Mills she imagined a sign: “Now Entering the Pacific Watershed” and felt a rush of anticipation. She parked her camper high on a bluff above Jenner-by-the-Sea right at the rim of the continent.
alone and all one
wave and ocean surge ashore
smoothing the edge
From the wild horizon it arrived: electricity in thunderheads, rain then hail pelting the roof, the camper buffeted by gusts. It was nature throwing a pebble at her window. She donned her rain gear and scrambled down to play with the driftwood.
stormy beach
thousands of shore birds
not many flying
And later, all dry and snug with a hot-water bottle, she gazes west and daydreams of dolphins and dead zones, salmon and redwoods, Japan and Zen temples.
“To find the self, you must lose the self,” Dogen said.
surfing below the surface
stories rise from silence
-- images in a darkroom
And there, in the eye of a storm on the Pacific Rim, she loses herself in a place that knows no yearning and refuses nothing -- like a cliff or an ocean.
- andrew zarrillo