Your Daily Miracle: Five Minutes of Sunshine
Fog encased us for days last week, thick clouds that in the daytime obscured buildings and trees and in the night time hung like a thousand ghosts, illuminated by headlights and thick as soup. I walked to my sister's house one evening with Elspeth and her cousin, Anna. The neighborhood was eerie and slightly sinister, as if I were in the middle of a Sherlock Holmes movie. If the girls had run too far ahead, I would have lost them. At one point I yelled, "We're standing in a cloud!" and they looked at me, feathers unruffled, unconcerned except at street crossings, where I made them wait for me for fear a car wouldn't see us until it was too late. Every word I said dropped like a stone at my feet; sound and light could not travel.
The fog lifted for a couple days and then descended again. This morning dawned in a wreath of thick cloud. Martin and took Bea and Eliora to Edmonds for Grandma Day and the ferry moved slowly, sounding its horn now and then. But on the way home some hours and two raspberry croissants later, something wonderful happened.
Edmonds was still cloudy though not cased in fog anymore. Martin and I boarded the ferry early enough to watch the sea birds for a while. Our favorites are the low-floating cormorants with their long beaks and wide black wings. Unlike ducks, their feathers are not coated with any waterproofing so they can swim deep after fish. We'll often see them perched on the pilings, their wings outstretched to dry in the cold wind. It seems a freezing way to live but they don't seem to mind in the least. A fairly large group of arctic birds, Scoters (orginally named Scooters for the way they scoot across the water before plunging in) bobbed around the pilings, ducking underneath every now and then for crusty shellfish that cling to the pilings and rocks. One went down for a while and came back up with a big old mussel in its beak, which apparently he swallowed hole and let his amazing gizzard do the rest. With their funny white spot on the backs of their heads, they're easy to track under the water. To me, they look like puffins, and may be related; they come here for the winter and then migrate back to the arctic in the summer time. It's hard to imagine how the Puget Sound could be too cold in the summer. (Lest you think I just knew all this, let me let you in on a secret: "Birds of the Pacific Coast" by Baron and Acorn).
Then the ferry pulled away and we stared out at the dark grey expanse. But about halfway across when we saw what looked like a crystal sailboat sailing in a celestial city. The sun had appeared across the water, and though we were still in the dullness of clouds, the water about a hundred yards away sparkled like Cinderella's gown--white and diamond crusted. And not only the sailboat seemed to be floating in these sugary clouds, but a big old ugly barge seemed caught up in the illuminated air. It was spectacular. I looked up into the sky and found the sun--a dull, flat white disc. I wanted the ferry driver to redirect course and drive us into that heaven, but we plowed on through the water.
Then, five or ten minutes from Kingston, the ferry veered slightly to our left and the water turned from grey to silver to a million points of blinding light. The sun transformed from a flat glowing thing into a living orb of fire. We had to close our eyes and just soak it in through our skin. I glanced up at the other passengers and felt amazed that they too were not plastered to the window, chin upturned, shivering with bliss.
My sister says that now that she's lived here for a few years, she understands about ancient cultures worshiping the sun. Given the choice between the cloudy, often rainy days here and the descent into grey that was Pennsylvania winter, I choose here for mental health. I get out in it every day and walk and there is the water and the mountains (even if they're obscured some days), the towering evergreens, thick ferns, and prolific emerald moss.
But the sun. . .oh, the sun. That was my miracle for today: how ordinary things--the sailboat, the barge, us--could be so transformed by a brief but wild sunshine. And brief it was, for alas, the peninsula had collected a canopy of clouds. But I swallowed just enough brilliance to last me through the week, I think. When I take off my clothes tonight shards of light will shake loose.
The fog lifted for a couple days and then descended again. This morning dawned in a wreath of thick cloud. Martin and took Bea and Eliora to Edmonds for Grandma Day and the ferry moved slowly, sounding its horn now and then. But on the way home some hours and two raspberry croissants later, something wonderful happened.
Edmonds was still cloudy though not cased in fog anymore. Martin and I boarded the ferry early enough to watch the sea birds for a while. Our favorites are the low-floating cormorants with their long beaks and wide black wings. Unlike ducks, their feathers are not coated with any waterproofing so they can swim deep after fish. We'll often see them perched on the pilings, their wings outstretched to dry in the cold wind. It seems a freezing way to live but they don't seem to mind in the least. A fairly large group of arctic birds, Scoters (orginally named Scooters for the way they scoot across the water before plunging in) bobbed around the pilings, ducking underneath every now and then for crusty shellfish that cling to the pilings and rocks. One went down for a while and came back up with a big old mussel in its beak, which apparently he swallowed hole and let his amazing gizzard do the rest. With their funny white spot on the backs of their heads, they're easy to track under the water. To me, they look like puffins, and may be related; they come here for the winter and then migrate back to the arctic in the summer time. It's hard to imagine how the Puget Sound could be too cold in the summer. (Lest you think I just knew all this, let me let you in on a secret: "Birds of the Pacific Coast" by Baron and Acorn).
Then the ferry pulled away and we stared out at the dark grey expanse. But about halfway across when we saw what looked like a crystal sailboat sailing in a celestial city. The sun had appeared across the water, and though we were still in the dullness of clouds, the water about a hundred yards away sparkled like Cinderella's gown--white and diamond crusted. And not only the sailboat seemed to be floating in these sugary clouds, but a big old ugly barge seemed caught up in the illuminated air. It was spectacular. I looked up into the sky and found the sun--a dull, flat white disc. I wanted the ferry driver to redirect course and drive us into that heaven, but we plowed on through the water.
Then, five or ten minutes from Kingston, the ferry veered slightly to our left and the water turned from grey to silver to a million points of blinding light. The sun transformed from a flat glowing thing into a living orb of fire. We had to close our eyes and just soak it in through our skin. I glanced up at the other passengers and felt amazed that they too were not plastered to the window, chin upturned, shivering with bliss.
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| Blissful evening of sunshine back in December |
My sister says that now that she's lived here for a few years, she understands about ancient cultures worshiping the sun. Given the choice between the cloudy, often rainy days here and the descent into grey that was Pennsylvania winter, I choose here for mental health. I get out in it every day and walk and there is the water and the mountains (even if they're obscured some days), the towering evergreens, thick ferns, and prolific emerald moss.
But the sun. . .oh, the sun. That was my miracle for today: how ordinary things--the sailboat, the barge, us--could be so transformed by a brief but wild sunshine. And brief it was, for alas, the peninsula had collected a canopy of clouds. But I swallowed just enough brilliance to last me through the week, I think. When I take off my clothes tonight shards of light will shake loose.
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