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west coast reflections

Everything is slightly out of kilter for me on the Pacific west coast.

It is the mornings that are misty here. The sun rises – in the east, like it always does – behind the hills and as it creeps upwards light spills in luminous sheets and shafts through gaps and fissures in the ranges, silver rays illuminating cold water laden air. The sea takes on colours slowly: dove grey, pearly pink, eggshell blue, white caps whipped up by the wind, the endless breakers rolling in.

In the evenings, I watch the sun slide down, directly into the water of the Pacific; the sky and sea illuminated – red, orange and purple, rocky outcrops and islands silhouetted, black, against a fiery backdrop.

This is a reversal of the all the years of my life. Years where, if I happened to be on the beach at sunrise, I would watch fire, in slow motion, flickering into the sky, clouds on the horizon filling with light over the tireless waves… and in the evening the mist would draw in as the colours ebbed and faded slowly from the sky and sea with the disappearance of the sun – west, behind mountains – leaving only a soft pearly silver luminescence until the final descent of darkness.

I wonder if I sat on the beach at dawn and sang a song for my friend, Lauri, she would hear it echoing over the waves with the sunset in Bondi, Australia.

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