But I realize that most of their days are spent blending in, so it just may be that they were always there, watching me.
One day last week, I was taking an evening walk ... at high tide and I walked into what seemed like their evening ritual -- sitting out on the rocks while people promenaded.
It was the second day in a row that I started my walk right before high tide. In practical terms this means that I could not walk on the wet, packed sand.
Instead, I was trudging through the just wet and very dry sand, trying to stay out of the cold waves.
That day, I headed towards the lighthouse, and for the first time ever, walked along the upper ledge, the part that creates a cliff above where I usually walk.
It was rough going, and I glanced over at the big rocks that separated the paved path to the lighthouse from the beach.
It turned out as I walked towards the point that I could almost make it to the other side without having to climb over the rocks... just a few big, but climbable rocks, stood between me and the other side.
I finally made it over after stopping to watch the waves break against the sand ledge.
As I looked back, there was no trace of my path ... just a ton of sand. But as I stood there, catching my breath before heading back, a sea lion popped his (or her) head out of the ocean. He/she stayed there for a minute looking at me.
This was a smallish sea lion -- I insist because they are the most likely visitors around her -- with a small and slender head. He/she flipped down into the water and didn't surface again while I stood there.
But on the way back from the lighthouse, so many cats were out on their rocks. Many watched as the people and dogs walked by -- defiantly staring down and only turning to go when they tired of the show.
One sat atop his/her outcropping, watching the ocean, I imagined. I think in all I saw at least ten ... and then there all the ones that were watching me.
No comments:
Post a Comment