Gusting winds made 44 degrees at the beach feel a lot colder this morning, but it kept everyone else away. I like that, even if it means that I have to wear a hat and jacket to breathe deeply of such vibrant solitude.
Nalu chased a stick, in and out of the wind-whipped surf.
Chica ran crazy speeds at a few Sandpipers until they took to the air, pulling
a “U” turn and circling her back North. Nine feet above the intersection of
water and sand, three fliers, one sprinter below, looking up, a black shadow. 17 pounds of rabid determination.
Rufus poked around up by the dunes, smelling and lifting his
leg to anoint every trash can. Obviously the scent of the can itself made no
difference. Guess he just wanted to know who he was about to pee on.
A mile South, a great little park offered distant views of
Fort Matanzas, the 1740 Spanish fort & monument nestled in about 100 acres
of salt marsh and barrier islands along the Matanzas River. A trail there was
perfect for the dogs to explore freely, and a warm windbreak for us as we
rambled along a sun-mottled path, flanked by walls of thick Florida scrub.
Leaving Crescent Beach, the 206 bridge opened its maw,
allowing a tall mast to cut across our path, floating over the tops of cars
stopped in front of us. A red herring of sorts that I was happy to follow until
movement of the bascule put me back in my car, to continue our ride back home.
No comments:
Post a Comment