Beauty is a very subjective issue, isn't it. You might look at this photograph I shot of some old derelict beach shack and wonder what in the world I could possibly find beautiful about it. I don't make apology for my aesthetic eye. I really dig the various textures and movement of the undulating lines, the white brush stroke, the knots, the distressing, the shadows, the colors. Me likee!
Just as me likee the subdued hues of Birch Bay. I make no apology for the tans and grays and blacks of the tideflats at low tide; or the almost nonexistent waves, except during stormy, windy days that send the water splashing up on Birch Bay Drive.
It's certainly different from the glare of sunshine and blue skies and the crash and roar of the seafoam or steely blue Pacific surf with frothy white caps and surfboard dudes and beach Bettys I experienced in Southern California beaches.
Don't get me wrong. There are summer sunsets here that rend the sky with slashes of purples, reds, oranges and golds that tantalize as they make you squint because you don't want to miss a nanosecond of the everchanging color show.
I, for one, enjoy the understated beauty of the beach at Birch Bay, where one has to look a little closer to discern the diverse seashells, the whoop of glee at discovering a clear agate you might only notice as a certain set of the sun gleams through the stone, or changing of seasons as witnessed by the various baby crab carapaces or fragile clam shells strewn across the beach--those that didn't make it to adulthood. Later in August and September you'll see no longer menacing adult crab claws and carapaces wash up on the beach.
Always something beautiful to be found, if you look beyond the bleached driftwood, the monochrome tans and grays and blacks.
1 comment:
okay, i'm moving to birch bay! what a wonderfully descriptive way you have, Kay. love it!
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