Yesterday I surfed. First time in weeks, for an hour or so, in bright blue sunshine and wonderfully crisp water. This morning I woke up feeling like I'd been beaten with a broom handle. The sky was full of clouds, thick, low, a terse indicator of things to come? Surfers live in many places at once; in the here and now, and thousands of miles away. We think of the other side of the world, where distant storms swirl, form swells, bring waves and their attendant joys. Sometimes those storms make landfall. I spent Sunday with one eye on the roiling skies; after yesterday's time in the sunlight ocean, rain...well. By midday, my mood was as black as the skies. I was downright morbid, glowering, desperately in need of some sunlight.
It didn't rain.
It didn't rain.
