May 27, Weds - Shelter in Place Journals.

Oikology on Display

Indulging in the practice of oikology* and tidying up my office, I created this small tableaux of random objects. It sure looks like a gathering of friends, from back in the day of the Time Before.

*The science of oikology, according to Alie Ward of my favorite podcast Ologies, is the science of the home, of house-keeping, or tidying up. See the episode here.

The heat broke this afternoon; we could feel the fog-kissed air rolling over from the water.

The Day.

Birds warble outside the open window,  air breathing in and out through a thin white curtain. The extreme heat has fled, leaving us bruised and gasping, grateful for each puff of air, each tiny breezelet, each set of trills from the exuberant mockingbird running though its repeating notes, wheeka wheeeka weaka whheek; whee whooeee whooee whoeee, chittering in-between. Sun glazes the back wall of the house, bouncing off sliding glass doors. Overhead, Canada geese honk their way back to the marsh. A grace has suffused the evening, a blessing of survival, an exultation of breath.

Earlier,  I had seen pelicans high in the morning sky, a long wheeling flock of them large, black chevrons on the wingtips, stark against brilliant white bodies. Twenty or thirty, a kaleidoscope of pelicans, in a twirl against blue. And then they straightened out, some flying off in small groups to the east and north, seeking the water treatment ponds, but most, the majority, falling into a stately line and flying due west, toward the coast, over the shoulder of  Mt Tam, onward to where we yearn to go, the ocean, stiff briny breezes, gritty sand, the pound of the waves rising and breaking along the shore.  Not yet, not yet. We hold our peace, we hold our breath, waiting, still.