After the gale.

A month ago at Indian Point a winter storm roared through here: big breakers, surf, thrashing trees and the immense sound of the wind rushing through the forest. Today is calm. The rolls of cloud stretch to the horizon of distant Islands in the Salish Sea. The forest floor is now carpeted with green branches, the ones that somehow missed me as I dodged around taking photos while drinking in the energy of the storm. Without the drama, what is there here today to make a worthwhile picture or two?

We have been inside our home or making dashes from car to stores in town for the past few days. Rain, rain, rain, in all its possible variations. Today only a few occasional drops still fall to keep water speckled, rocks shiny, the orange trunks of the arbutus and the green leaves of the salal gleaming in the grey light. This is what is on offer today if I can bring my sights down from action to contemplation.

I notice too that there have been furniture movements on the beach as well: familiar drift logs have moved on, the gravel beach has become steeper, little streams wind out of the undergrowth and hit the beach running. Al cleaned and washed and tidied. Fresh sheets of seaweed and accents of new jetsam and flotsam catch my eye. While photos are my aim, I am not adverse to a little beachcombing as well. Someone`s storm loss may be my lucky find today.

Fresh images, washed and glazed by rain, are my subjects today at Indian Point.