At dusk last night Walt went a little nuts, pacing the deck and growling. Since he had ignored the beautiful sunset two nights ago:
I knew this one had nothing to do with his mood.
And then, on the ridge above us, something moved. Walt growled. Too dark for anything but a crummy photo from the point-and-shoot but still, look close, right there in the center of the frame. See the coyote ears?
A slow build with this storm, low clouds edging in all night long. Thick mist at daybreak, just a few fat drops falling.
The wildlife here is waiting, crows hunched on telephone wires, hummingbirds hidden, great drifts of pelicans high above, sailing, a steady breeze up there, not a wing beat, not once.
To the north of us PCH is closed. To the south you hear the Zuma surf. At my feet, wet dogs. (Yes, fragrant.) And just now, right now, the real rain.
No, this awful drought isn't over but for today at least, it's not getting worse.
It's easy enough to see what keeps visitors from walking on the supposedly public pier in Paradise Cove:
But what about the seagulls and pelicans the sign jokingly refers to?
Take a closer look and you'll see the network of fishing filament, all but invisible, that runs the length and, in places, crosses the width of the pier.
You don't need the occasional clump of bloody feathers on the pier's wood planks to realize that for sea birds seeking a place to rest, it's a potential death trap.