It snowed last night. And winter is back. It’s bitterly cold as I take my watch at six in the morning; we’d just weighed anchor in Hercules Bay.
It’s still snowing, though not heavily. Snow clouds partially obscure the landscape. Visibility is limited. The wind whips the snowflakes around my ears and stings my eyes. But it’s beautiful, and I’m having one of the most wonderful four hours of this trip at the helm.
Except for the sounds of the wind and the water, the landscape glides silently by. There is something mystical about the whole scene. Sometimes the mountainous coastline emerges only as a faint silhouette from the fog; other times, the curtain parts, revealing the view. The fresh snow enchants this archaic landscape.
Patterns and textures in black, gray, and white. Sometimes blurred and very delicate, sometimes clear and high-contrast. Graphic. Like fine drawings or old copperplate engravings.
It’s beautiful, and I can’t get enough of it. I hum softly to myself and savor the gift that is the beauty of this morning.