Luckily Carol and Greg took a photo of the sky last Friday evening:
A southwest swell bypassed the Jetty; my friend and I bypassed the crowds further up the spit and decided on Bunker’s, where the waves rolled in waist-high on the sets. I managed to find a few rights, one that even held up, but the session wasn’t so much about the water for once – it was about that sky. I couldn’t stop looking at it, kept berating myself for leaving the camera at home (despite my husband suggesting I take it), continuously attempted to translate the images into words in my mind. But nothing came close.
Those sorts of clouds that are flat on the bottom and puffy on top, and the bottoms are dark, while the tops are bright white.
They covered the sky, except for all the holes through which the sun shone, rays streaming down upon the momentarily smoothed ocean.
The blues behind the clouds, which one could see through the holes between, ranged from indigo to cobalt to that indefinable green-yellow over the horizon.
And the breeze faltered, then returned, slightly, from the south, teasing of rain and electricity – which proved true later when a sudden pattering on the roof led to sharp flashes and rumbling that caused Kaylee to insist I sleep in her room. Ah, but that calm before, that sky – the world momentarily expanded, pulling out all the week’s stress and leaving me filled only with peace.