What we saw there . . .

Pelicans flying in a tight formation just above the breaking surf, scooping little fish and critters out of the crest of the waves; a bald eagle fishing in the bay where the seals were sunning themselves on the beach. A flock of herons, standing in a pond covered so deeply in lily-pads that their legs must have seemed another tendril from the plants; an egret walking the banks of the river, oh so slowly, oh so carefully placing each foot carefully into the water so as not to disturb his prey.

Cormorants perched on top of a huge craggy rock in the sea, the top so white from generations of bird excrement that their black bodies were easy to see, even several hundred yards out on a bright shining day; a waterfall, tucked into a crag of rock on a sea cliff, spilling down into the surging water below.

Another bald eagle, in a nest built on top of a trestle bridge above a busy highway; three bull elk grazing in the high grass on the protected side of the mouth of the Columbia River, the Jetty in the back ground with huge ships passing into the river and fishing boats making their way to and fro to the sea.

Blue and gold sparrows, nesting in the Battery, the empty rooms that held cannon shot and powder now home to brave parents defending their mud waddle nests stuck to the white washed walls from the invasive humans sight-seeing through their home. Brown squirrels eating barely ripe goose berries from bushes on the grounds of Fort Stevens, a military encampment built to protect the Oregon/Washington people from invasion from the British in the 1800’s.

Buildings erected before this territory was a state and shortly after. Glorious old facades that are kept freshly painted and in grand condition. Three herbal-crystal-belly-dance-pagan-hippy-nag champa-and-patchouli smelling shops in a row in one of the oldest towns in Oregon less than a block from six churches with graceful steeples and stained glass saints.

I tossed one star fish back into the sea, one crab that hadn’t yet become gull food; Rob skipped a flat stone 30 or so yards across the smooth flat sand to land back on the edge of the turning tide. I felt the sand between my toes, cold and wet and smooth. I felt the sand on the soles of my feet, hot and rough and scalding. I smelled the rain, and the salt, and the green verdant valley. I saw families laughing and carefree; moms and dads swinging babies between them as they walked on the beach; a homeless man walking carefully down the beach, dressed in beat up denim, carefully combing his hair and beard as he made his way to the back of a restaurant on the shore.

I stood in the shadow of two separate light houses in two different states that looked nearly the same and stood on the same sort of points, looking ever out to the sea; one is a gift shop, the other a truck full of Coast Guardsmen were taking readings and measurements of the horizon while the wind whipped around me and the ships went about their day.

I spent sweet time, timeless time, clockless time, uncounted and precious with my best friend.