Buckets of salted fishy cold
Silver beach blankets grind
While tidal waves roll the fluid edges.
I enjoyed the solitude of my painting at the Crane's Estate in Essex http://www.thetrustees.org/crane-estate/ this past Thursday.
My walk from the parking lot along Cedar Point Trail was a hardy, heart pounding journey exacerbated by my over-loaded painting cart pulling from behind. I trudged; first down a winding stony road, then along a flat dirt path which divided the expansive marsh grasses undulating on either side, then onward through the valley of brightly lit sand dunes. At last, I could hear the ocean waves. I leaned into my last steps with my cart cutting a deep granular path of two, parallel deep troughs.
*One hiker of the day wondered at such pecular scars carved into the sandy path as she walked along... she thought perhaps two bicycles? "No! Now I understand,"she said aloud to me as she glanced upon my painting set-up after descending her last dune to the beach. "Enjoy this good day!" we said to each other.
Standing at the end of the trail, I observed first how cold the wind was, the deep blue of the waters, then the brightness of the sand beach and the brilliant whiteness of the cottages tucked in the dark greeness of foliage; how bright the autumnal sun was reflected. There I painted; in four hours the tidal waters found my planted soles and painting easel.
My walk back to my car was a reflective activity rather than a physical one. I carried my back pack where it belonged... on my back, making a lighter load of my rolling cart. I recorded my return journey's observation through the lens of my camera.
Please go to
to see the marsh flora and fauna of that particular day.