This morning I rolled out of bed and opened the drapes to a pre-dawn sky nearly free of clouds. A waning crescent moon shone like a golden sculpture, rising much farther to the south than the last time I recall seeing it.
There was only a 20 percent chance of rain today, and by the time I'd finished my hike-n-bike, some interesting clouds had blown in that looked capable of delivering a little something. Dark as they were, they merely moiled and toiled in a weird, rainless circulation I'd never have noticed if I hadn't run a timelapse.
As for all these timelapse shots, call me a nephophile -- a lover of clouds.
The chance of rain was a little higher yesterday, but I still made it to the beach before the clouds let loose. I was able to wait it out from a tiny dry area on the beach beneath the sea wall that runs south from Noriega Street. I was pinned down for quite a while, but what the heck, I didn't have to be anywhere.
A couple of gulls flew over me and gave me the eye. The next time I saw them they'd landed nearby on the sandy berm that blocked my view of the ocean. It was slightly weird. Did they expect me to feed them? I turned away and when I looked again, the two gulls had been joined by several more, as if I had been feeding them. Again, I turned away, scouting the sky to the south, and the next time I looked, the cogs fell into place. They were drinking the fresh rainwater that had drained from the pedestrian-friendly top of the seawall.
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| Taking Cover |
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