ember2

Battery Point

On the coast gale force winds blow and the ocean is a tumultuous mass of pulsating blue. At -30 degrees, the spray from crashing waves freezes in mid air and sounds like a battery of stones cast against the shore. No one is on the water today; no one save for the gulls gliding low above the cold surf. On my way to the point I walk through a stand of sitka spruce whose trunks groan and roots quake under the power of the storm. In an explosion of branches and bark, four hundred years worth of growth plummets to the forest floor with a single gust. Other giants drop nearby and I think of being crushed beneath their weight. Should I turn back? True, I could observe from the safety of my window--I could watch the crest building on the waves, observe the trees sway, and hear the press of strong wind upon glass. Yet, in that context, I would never know what it FEELS like to be in it; never know the sense of leaning far forward into the wind and being cradled by its chilly embrace. And while there is often a price paid for knowledge (think Eve and the forbidden fruit), sometimes you simply must know.