December Comes

Only an hour now remains of November. No fault of mine. I certainly didn’t hurry it along.

We had ourselves quite a sunset over The Channel this evening. I got a few shots.

(Click to enlarge.)

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This was taken from the yard in front of my place, looking WSW. Near the bottom, left of center, you can see the great frigate HMS Sandflea. She’s sailing out in search of the illusive red-eyed abalone, for the finer restaurants of Santa Barbara. You know, cloth napkins, and all the iced tea you can drink.

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After a few minutes, the clouds reddened and the massive ship had disappeared. Farewell, boys, and Godspeed. Be back by Friday, before the tourists roll in.

"Come, come thou bleak December wind,
And blow the dry leaves from the tree!
Flash, like a Love-thought, thro’me, Death
And take a Life that wearies me."

-   Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Boy, old Sam was the life of the party, wasn’t he? He wrote under the influence of opiates, they say.

“Some of us go singing
happily into death or into
afternoons with children
naming the shapes of clouds
that lead the shadows of force
off the sea. There is tea
in the evening and the windows
shine the inner spaces back to us.”

— Me, under the influence of nothing much at all.

Here’s to November, anyway.

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