The Song of the Sea Breeze

                                                                                                                                              

July. The Song of the Sea Breeze.

The smell of dry things crushed underfoot: brittle arbutus leaves; moss, once soft emerald green, now dry as snuff; grasses, bent across the path, full of seed.


It`s the grasses that catch my fancy today, bringing my eyes down from windy white capped waves, vistas of sailboats and distant islands, to the shimmering textures among the waving stems of growing things gone to seed. A month ago all was green and short and lushly growing; a living carpet underfoot that flowed smoothly over the rocky ground: now transformed to a fecund field that ripples beneath the wind.

The blowing grasses show their different varieties now that they are seedy, their tall stems wave flags of many grassy nations, soft as feathers, fox tailed families all waving together, grainy clumps hung on stiffly bending flag poles. All individuals, together making one larger expressive form. Colour, tone, texture: all sighing as they blend to give a fine high pitched reedy voice to the wind.

Behind me the grasses merge with the forest trees that climb and cloth the rocky hillside. They too toss their heads, move their woody arms in writhing gesture and sing together in deeper tones than grasses. I take a step back and find myself standing knee deep in this singing sea, adding my own voice of praise to this glorious day of summer; singing the song of sea breeze.