#608 – October 2026

On the third day of our trip to the Oregon Coast, Melissa, my in-laws, and I paid a visit to Pacific City. We’d come here to do some grocery shopping and get a bite to eat. It was between the grocery shopping and lunch that we decided to walk down and check out the tide pools.

Walking through the parking lot on our way to the beach, my eye was caught by a small dog on a leash tethered to the handle of a car. Behind the car, a couple was firing up a Coleman stove on the car’s trunk. The dog looked very much like a toy Pomeranian. This, of course, reminded me of our Pomeranian and good friend for 17 years, Pepsie.

I wandered over to say hello. During our conversation, I found out they were from the Seattle area. When I said I was from Pullman, Washington, one of them mentioned they had grown up in Pullman, a wonderful connection. We also bonded over the joy of Pomeranians.

The conversation turned toward how good it is being on the coast. This always seems to come up in conversations with people I meet on the coast. I find it difficult to put words to the salty air, the waves, fog rolling in and rolling out, and the gulls.

Constant motion. One can’t put a finger on it: the air, the waves, the fog, and the gulls. It is always in motion. No room for a pause and yet there you are.

As I was talking to the couple and pondering this, there was their toy Pomeranian, spinning, jumping on my shins, always in motion with a smile and that Pomeranian energy. The ocean is like this, constantly expressing itself, in each moment, woven into all that is happening in our lives.

Seaweed spread across horizontally in long thin vertical lines by the ocean waves as the tide goes out. The sand dry. The long verticle line are like Japanese music written for shakuachi.
Sand: Day 3
across the sea-/a melody's soft breath/written by the tide!

#599 – September 2026

Morning Stillness

I went for a walk early this morning. My first early morning walk in quite a long time, and I have missed them.

I headed out in the twilight, looking forward to what I had always thought of as a quiet time.

What I noticed this morning was that within this quiet time, there was a bit of action. Each time I turned my gaze toward the sky, there was a different view of the clouds — a different shape, a different color.

Bare hills of the Palouse after harvest surrounded me as cars passed by. At the nursery, a semi truck was running its engine. And in a large bush, the magpies were making quite a commotion.

And yet, within, a stillness.

color photograph of a creek meandering through grasses, flowing from the top to the bottom of the photograph with fog from a field rolling over the creek. There are a few pine needles from the tree out of focus in the upper left.
scent of morning fog/rolls off the field –chirp/of a dark-eyed junco
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