High wispy clouds will be providing a back drop to this rising sun. Tucked away in this forest glen, I must wait a little longer than others to get the first bright rays beaming into my eyes. Then I expect the light frost on neighbors’ roof tops below me to steam, melt, and evaporate. As this day gets on with a more refulgent, winter lighting scheme, I’ll get out and maybe rake some fallen leaves. I’ve huddled many of them into heaps of moldy brown and with utmost laziness and unconcern on my part, allowed mother nature to begin her composting work on them. I often think the area in front of my house would look so much nicer if I would just leave it alone.
Rather than fuss and stew over piles of dead leaves, I’d rather be out looking for the large waves expected to hit the local beaches the next couple of days. Organizers of the Maverick’s surf contest, in Half Moon Bay, have invited big wave riders from afar to come ride the sixty-foot giants that may pop up on rocky reefs a mile off shore. Local wave warriors here in town have heard the forecast. My financial advisor, with whom I consult, is a surfer who I could see was just squiggling in his desk chair yesterday, knowing a three-day weekend lay just ahead, with warm sun and giant waves.
My own blubber no longer insulates me well enough to enjoy the chill of our 50-degree waters, especially since my recent return from Hawaii. I still have the muscle memory of what it feels like to drop in on a large wave, pull off a graceful bottom turn, and race across the face of a glass-surface tube. Watching waves from the sidelines is thrill enough. I expect that a few old-time surfers I rode with years ago will come out of their private places and hang out along the cliffs and beaches to watch the younger crowd tackle the rough and tumble sea.