August 21, 2022 - 2:56 pm - 4:14 pm
I treasure deeply those quiet months of luxury when I was wealthy with time-- before the advent of new responsibilities that pulled me away and left me starved for wandering and unscheduled thought.
On an undisturbed day of mid August, I drove with Sam to explore the region of Elkhorn Slough in Monterey. I had received the suggestion from a frequent patron at my work who had lived along the coast. He advertised it as a sprawling wetland rich with natural beauty and an abundance of bird life. Admittedly, it wasn't very photogenic from what I saw online, but at that point in time, I was rebuilding a love for bird-watching that lay dormant in me since childhood, and I felt an uncharacteristic call to adventure. I was empowered by a realization of my own freedom as an adult to explore my passions more intentionally, aware of the independence I possessed despite my obligations. I thought it economical and clever to include Sam so as to provide an alternative to our usual outings.
Unfortunately, as far as a date, it turned out to be a rather dreary event, at least for Sam. The weather was gloomy and a cold pacific breeze swept up the plains of tall grass to chill her delicate bones. I was thoroughly entranced in the romanticism of wandering, which meant that the pace at which I walked or rather snailed didn't cover much ground. Having become infatuated with Tolkien and bird-watching, it took very little to excite me. I was quietly beaming to be in nature of my own volition.
I chose to take a detour to a small looping trail just before the main overlook, which led us out of the wind and down into the woods near a quiet corner pond occupied by seagulls (the only birds I managed to spot apart from a solitary towhee). We spent most of our time wandering there under the canopy of pacific oak trees and soft sand trails.
We stopped at a patch of open mud that trailed into a small bay. I balanced myself atop the ruins of a wooden pier and held my breath to listen for the distant sirens of shorebirds. There really wasn't much to see in particular, quite a dull scene to anyone else watching; perhaps a place for me to visit on my own when I could more indulgently muse on the beauty of banality. For now, I couldn't let my selfish desire to feel poetic run the patience of those I loved, and I restrained myself as best as I could for Sam, though I could have done better. Her company, as always, enriched the experience on the trail.
By the time we returned to the main road, Sam was growing tired and we both felt it was time to eat. At my behest, we journeyed just a bit further to the overlook to survey the broader landscape. I felt as though I had barely crossed the borders of these wetlands. I made a reminder to myself to return at a more agreeable time. We then made up for the gloom with some good Thai food.