Prior: Into the Fore
Yes, more rain coming, though now at breakfast the eastern sun blazes, the cumulus clouds fluff soft pale yellow- white, and blue sky rises directly before me.
Yet the waves remain high and dark, crashing in — steady and roaring, the crests and white froth reaching the tops of the oceanfront homes below — seeming to inundate their decks — but it’s merely a trick of the eye, a perspective from higher up that I’m getting used to.
Yes, though it’s sunny right here right now, backlit from the east I see those dark purple-grey storm clouds coming.
White caps speckle the sea. I see them coming in, driven, inpatient, some cresting out to sea, unable to wait for the black rock’s embrace. The sea wrinkles grey-green, then a dark teal, but at the horizon it becomes a dark band of deep blue-purple.
I sit, mesmerized by the waves, one huge crest crashing in on top of another just breaking — or surging back, just having broken, and before me a mass of foam. When a wave breaks, the curl on top thins to translucent jade.
Now the horizon is lighter, a light blue- grey, and oops! No more blue sky overhead, but lowering grey clouds. The sea in front of me is wild, tossed charcoal chunks of teal-jade. And to the north, sheets of delicate grey tracery dance this way. It won’t be long before rain again.
Yet the horizon sky is still pale blue, with flecks of white, glowing clouds behind the grey tracery — an opening of light ahead in the distance — a window.
Oh, how the line of the squall advances over the sea before me! The horizon window fades to a soft fog blue while the grey tracery darkens to fuzzy charcoal, blotting out all in its path.
Yet the ferocious wind-blown waves at the shoreline are so clear and distinct, outlined in each curl, each crest, each burst of geyser spray.
Becoming vague and dark 300 yards out, 200 yards now, while high above a hole of blue sky opens and radiant white clouds light up the whole misty scene.
A few raindrops speckle my window — more — fog, spray, no clear view ahead, despite the blue and white light overhead.
A horizontal storm. A flurry. The spray of rain, light and gusty. Ahead, a clear pale white horizon sky.
And now, my first rainbow, to the north — actually, half a rainbow — fading into the pines, a shaft of rainbow from the horizon straight up only, now curved slightly northwards, to the edge of the clouds. A soft rainbow, fuzzy and fading.
More waves crash above the deck of the oceanfront house below, more coming in as dark crests fifty feet out — coming — coming.
Sky blue overhead, crows hang on the wet wires, gulls circle high above the foam, one rising up toward the moon, a late half-moon shining down on its way towards the horizon. A Moon-and- Rainbow morning.