Went for a good long run out to Coal Island and explored all the little islets and islands along the way. Played in John Passage as the currents collided and starting rushing.
Just sat down with Google Earth, and it's ruler, and plotted out the course... apparently I paddled 50Km. I'm shocked. That works out to an average speed of 5.98 (6!) Km/Hr over the whole trip, including putzing around and rest stops, that's 3.23 Knots for the mariners in the crowd. I made good advantage of the long tides today, and rode it both ways but still... no wonder I was so tired when I pulled out. ..
Time on water - 8.5 hours
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I can write about all of this now, descriptively... but when I'm paddling, I'm lost in 'now', emptiness of thought... fullness of heart... calmness of soul... Sometimes sharing a journey is fluid and easy... sometimes it's a struggle... sharing this intense day challenges me...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Just sat down with Google Earth, and it's ruler, and plotted out the course... apparently I paddled 50Km. I'm shocked. That works out to an average speed of 5.98 (6!) Km/Hr over the whole trip, including putzing around and rest stops, that's 3.23 Knots for the mariners in the crowd. I made good advantage of the long tides today, and rode it both ways but still... no wonder I was so tired when I pulled out. ..
Time on water - 8.5 hours
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I can write about all of this now, descriptively... but when I'm paddling, I'm lost in 'now', emptiness of thought... fullness of heart... calmness of soul... Sometimes sharing a journey is fluid and easy... sometimes it's a struggle... sharing this intense day challenges me...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Island View to Coal Island
~true courtesy~
It's a beautiful morning, skies are clear and blue, and the sun's rays are warm. I'm perched on a sea-side retaining wall, sipping hot coffee, rich with goat's milk, sweet with honey, and a pinch of chocolate. My unexpected companion is a noble and devout widow, wisps of gray hair falling across her eyes. The coffee made fresh over propane, in the little RV which she, and her disabled daughter, call home. I notice a Philodendron leaf splayed flat against a window and smile. The offer of coffee is generous - the conversation enjoyable.
1015 hours - Regretably I must hand the cup back to her, empty save a few straggler fennel seed. My thanks, and my sincere apologies for my abrupt departure.
~graceless and laughing~
I'm zip-ped into my red nylon cocoon, 'Tassie' is loaded, secured, and final checked. My stomach, my body, and my soul are warmed, a last look up at the sky, and I push off. Sort of. My attempt at a graceful entry ends with long legs crossed up... and a capsize five feet from the beach.
...pumping my cockpit empty I am treated to a sight, and what a sight it is.
Those of you who remember THIS infamous scene might relate.
The sun is low on the horizon...
A distant rumbling in the air...
Fast approaching - a landing craft...
A stunning paint job... dreamed of in a stupour... painted with a wild hand...
It's mouth gaping open... dropping down... a wall of water gished-up in front of it's square bow...
A horrific, and extended groan as the dented steel hull meets the sea-pocked concrete of the ramp...
Motor's still pulsing as a blue flat-decked service truck rolls out of it's belly...
Mission accomplished the beast returns to her nest.
The pump starts to spit a combination of air and water - seems I'm empty.
~first apology~
I'm pushing up-current through Cordova Channel - a stop at Cordova Spit to pick up a beautiful Geoduck shell - it's halves still held together by a strong sinewy hinge. I carefully wad up a bit of beach-combed plastic, pack it, and stow it in my rear hatch.
Still an hour until slack tide.
I chose a ferry angle that'll carry me over to the NW tip of James. There's a slight breeze from the North cooling my face... interesting as I've noticed it shifting about all morning... Before I reach the tip I turn broadside to the current. I want to explore the long curving arc of the west side of James Island...
I quietly slip past a feeding eagle, tearing ribbons of flesh off a fish - pinned by it's talons. I think I am unseen, but I soon feel a rapier's eyes penetrate me. I continue to paddle along the shore but switch to a low and wide sliding stroke - my motions deliberate and slow. A flick of white catches my attention, and I look up. The watcher is being watched. A second eagle reveals itself, fifty feet off, and thirty above. As I pass under the weathered snag in which he's perched I apologize...
The tip of James, time to ride the all-day flood current and see where it'll take me. Today I'm heading off-shore and across the seven or so kilometers of open water to Coal Island - following the path of least resistance.
~the sea and me~
It's a challenge trying to find the underlying rythum in a sea-base of big rolling swells, wind driven waves, and the unpredictable mishing, mashing, and mooshing of a tide change. Though my kayak is bucking I find the deep purposeful push of the consensus of movement - North - underneath it all. I relax my hips and let it carry me, fascinated by the complexity of the ocean's surface. This far off-shore forward progress is imperceptable, and I notice everything happening about me in it's stead.
Tassie's stern lifts on a swell from the rear, at the same moment a broaching wind-wave tries to twist me. It's an odd movement, and placing a paddle into the meat of a wave takes timing... stay loose daniel... let it roll past.. pull out of it as the bow comes up with a long, extended sweep.
My eyes scan twenty feet ahead and around me, what's happening below me has already been. Fluidity. I'm still a long way from anywhere, but off in the distance - if i squint real hard - I can barely discern the difference in green that is Ker Island. Ahead on my starboard quarter, a few kilometers off, lies the sandy tip of Sidney Island - and beyond that, just coming into view, Forrest Island.
Though the current is flowing predominantly North now, the wind has changed to a Westerly, so I let it blow me, taking it on the side. It carries me out, over Sidney Spit's sandy shallows, towards Forrest Island.
Monday is a magical day to be on the water, even the normally bustling Port of Sidney is quiet as I pass it, three kilometers out.
The ocean's surface settles into a smooth pulse as the tide finds it's dominant thrust. Sidney Channel's inflow takes over behind me. I stop, sculling a circle on my starboard chine, while I examine the clouds. Wispy high altitude stratus with some fairly dense, cumulo-nimbus clouds forming low on the Eastern horizon. On my side the world, I see signs of low lying clouds forming over the penninsula. Wind is wavering between North and North Northwest.
I draw heavily on the nipple of my water-bag, stretch out into a casual floating brace, shoulder in the water, and then - with a gentle push downwards on my paddle - I lift myself up and over, to do the same on the other side.
~true courtesy~
It's a beautiful morning, skies are clear and blue, and the sun's rays are warm. I'm perched on a sea-side retaining wall, sipping hot coffee, rich with goat's milk, sweet with honey, and a pinch of chocolate. My unexpected companion is a noble and devout widow, wisps of gray hair falling across her eyes. The coffee made fresh over propane, in the little RV which she, and her disabled daughter, call home. I notice a Philodendron leaf splayed flat against a window and smile. The offer of coffee is generous - the conversation enjoyable.
1015 hours - Regretably I must hand the cup back to her, empty save a few straggler fennel seed. My thanks, and my sincere apologies for my abrupt departure.
~graceless and laughing~
I'm zip-ped into my red nylon cocoon, 'Tassie' is loaded, secured, and final checked. My stomach, my body, and my soul are warmed, a last look up at the sky, and I push off. Sort of. My attempt at a graceful entry ends with long legs crossed up... and a capsize five feet from the beach.
...pumping my cockpit empty I am treated to a sight, and what a sight it is.
Those of you who remember THIS infamous scene might relate.
The sun is low on the horizon...
A distant rumbling in the air...
Fast approaching - a landing craft...
A stunning paint job... dreamed of in a stupour... painted with a wild hand...
It's mouth gaping open... dropping down... a wall of water gished-up in front of it's square bow...
A horrific, and extended groan as the dented steel hull meets the sea-pocked concrete of the ramp...
Motor's still pulsing as a blue flat-decked service truck rolls out of it's belly...
Mission accomplished the beast returns to her nest.
The pump starts to spit a combination of air and water - seems I'm empty.
~first apology~
I'm pushing up-current through Cordova Channel - a stop at Cordova Spit to pick up a beautiful Geoduck shell - it's halves still held together by a strong sinewy hinge. I carefully wad up a bit of beach-combed plastic, pack it, and stow it in my rear hatch.
Still an hour until slack tide.
I chose a ferry angle that'll carry me over to the NW tip of James. There's a slight breeze from the North cooling my face... interesting as I've noticed it shifting about all morning... Before I reach the tip I turn broadside to the current. I want to explore the long curving arc of the west side of James Island...
I quietly slip past a feeding eagle, tearing ribbons of flesh off a fish - pinned by it's talons. I think I am unseen, but I soon feel a rapier's eyes penetrate me. I continue to paddle along the shore but switch to a low and wide sliding stroke - my motions deliberate and slow. A flick of white catches my attention, and I look up. The watcher is being watched. A second eagle reveals itself, fifty feet off, and thirty above. As I pass under the weathered snag in which he's perched I apologize...
The tip of James, time to ride the all-day flood current and see where it'll take me. Today I'm heading off-shore and across the seven or so kilometers of open water to Coal Island - following the path of least resistance.
~the sea and me~
It's a challenge trying to find the underlying rythum in a sea-base of big rolling swells, wind driven waves, and the unpredictable mishing, mashing, and mooshing of a tide change. Though my kayak is bucking I find the deep purposeful push of the consensus of movement - North - underneath it all. I relax my hips and let it carry me, fascinated by the complexity of the ocean's surface. This far off-shore forward progress is imperceptable, and I notice everything happening about me in it's stead.
Tassie's stern lifts on a swell from the rear, at the same moment a broaching wind-wave tries to twist me. It's an odd movement, and placing a paddle into the meat of a wave takes timing... stay loose daniel... let it roll past.. pull out of it as the bow comes up with a long, extended sweep.
My eyes scan twenty feet ahead and around me, what's happening below me has already been. Fluidity. I'm still a long way from anywhere, but off in the distance - if i squint real hard - I can barely discern the difference in green that is Ker Island. Ahead on my starboard quarter, a few kilometers off, lies the sandy tip of Sidney Island - and beyond that, just coming into view, Forrest Island.
Though the current is flowing predominantly North now, the wind has changed to a Westerly, so I let it blow me, taking it on the side. It carries me out, over Sidney Spit's sandy shallows, towards Forrest Island.
Monday is a magical day to be on the water, even the normally bustling Port of Sidney is quiet as I pass it, three kilometers out.
The ocean's surface settles into a smooth pulse as the tide finds it's dominant thrust. Sidney Channel's inflow takes over behind me. I stop, sculling a circle on my starboard chine, while I examine the clouds. Wispy high altitude stratus with some fairly dense, cumulo-nimbus clouds forming low on the Eastern horizon. On my side the world, I see signs of low lying clouds forming over the penninsula. Wind is wavering between North and North Northwest.
I draw heavily on the nipple of my water-bag, stretch out into a casual floating brace, shoulder in the water, and then - with a gentle push downwards on my paddle - I lift myself up and over, to do the same on the other side.
It feels wonderful. I'm relaxed.
Looking South, stern to North - chunky big swells approach. Spinning 180 degrees on paired sweep strokes - I turn the tail of each stroke into a forward push. Four fast jabs to the water, and I match speed. The ocean picks me up on it's broad body... a few strokes to find it's character... and I settle into the momentum of a solid quartering ride. I glide off towards Forrest Island. One stroke on the Port, two long sweeps off the starboard. A big smile cracks my face as I skitter happily along.
Taking a spin around Forrest is tempting but I settle for a long slow pass along it's west flank. Today the tides have another destination in mind.
~fourty cormorants~
I've always admired the Cormorant's slender, lithe body, grace in the water, and powerful flight on deeply arched wings. It seems so perfectly purpose-built... with it's long slender neck, that coils like a snake while perched, and straightens like an arrow while swimming. Powerful webbed feet placed far back on a stream-lined, minimalist body propel it gracefully underwater. A downless set of irridescent black feathers holds no air, and has no oil.
The bird truly is a specialist... and that makes it special to me.
~The other day, I stood high up on the sixth deck of the ferry, watching Cormorants diving. A fine stream of bubbles, the only trace of their impact.~
So there they are, fourty Cormorants, a-bobbing on the ocean's surface, some fly off, some fly in. I wonder what it would be like to be underwater, watching them dive around me. I sit in my kayak, paddle across my lap, rolling the waves through my hips, watching them. Watching to see... watching to experience... watching to enjoy... and when it feels right - I quietly lift my paddle - cedar warm in my hands - and start paddling... North again.
~nonsuch and such (and a second apology)~
Blink twice... tap the toes of ruby-red booties... and I'm roaring up on the rocky shores of Ker Island. I drop my Starboard deck lines into the water and slide up it's Southeast coast ...and then I veer East on a whim and a stroke.
Rough and weather torn, with steep rocky ledges, dropping vertically into the water. This group of little Islets off-shore are inhospitable. I gaze up at the twisted, leafless little Garry Oaks, bonsai'd to twiggy knee-scratchers. Square mesh cages scatter these Islets - ugly and obtrusive - I resent scientific aesthetics in this rough, randomly natural world.
A group of seals have been following me, just feet off my stern. The marine mammal protection act looms... but I can't shake 'em. They're too fast for me and seem to predict my every move. Except one...
As i jam my paddle vertically into the water during a series of sharp accelerating strokes I feel... and worse... hear... the unmistakable, hollow *thuck* of wood abruptly making contact with someone's melon. I think I see the fleeting shadow of a seal's tail dissapear under my hull. I'm shocked, concerned, and embarressed... second time today I have to apologize to the animals...
Sliding up into a cleft-like channel, I open my spray-skirt, scooch myself forward against the front coaming, and awkwardly fumble behind me... with both hands... in search of a Jonagold Apple. I press it to my lips, feeling the cool saltiness, and tear out a drooly, mouthful of juicy, tart flesh. Drifting down the little channel, turning slowly in the current, carried side-ways, a paddle-tip lazily dragsin the water. Hardy flora clings above me, winter-reddened Sedum, golden-yellow Lichen, sandy-brown grasses. In a tiny little bay I admire the sea-etched stone, and scorn a rusty aerosol can.
There's a nice current building out here, off the rocky outcrops, so I roar into it a few times, allowing it to spin me off, enjoying being it's whimsy ...and I continue on.
~endorphens or enlightenment~
It's a quiet ,contemplative time now, as I re-align myself with the current - waves dead astern - the ocean, and Tassie's hull - sluicing me towards Coal Island. Strokes are quiet and purposeful.... a tickled growl comes off a planted blade as I overpower it.
A body...a paddle... a craft ...the ocean... intimate... sensuous... simple... free...
~a ring of coal~
Coal Island is a gem. No ferries to dodge... beautiful places easily reached. Fir Cone Point... and John Passage on a good long tide... and the islets ... of course...
I round Fir Cone Point, and point my bow at Goudge Island on the other side of the passage. Sprint time!!! I'm paddling as focused as I possibly can. Knees together, pressed up against the deck, powerful paddle strokes pass vertical, over the centerline of 'Tassie'. I get across and keep on keeping on, roaring up the side of Goudge against the remnants of this morning's big flood.
A hidden bay... heart thumping... breath short... muscles on fire... lunch. From the hatch I pull out a 'Dagwood' and feast. Orange juice to wash it down. The last apple for desert.
The next few hours are spent running up and down John Passage, playing in the building eddies and rips... taking runs out to Killer Whale Point to lay and play in the surges... and ride waves back in. The last, most exhilirating run back down the passage ends as I duck out at the passage between Fernie and Goudge Islands.
~a third apology~
Klaus Island, Kolb Island, Harlock Island... Tiny little cabins, with tiny little docks, perched on tiny little islands... all nestled in a cozy lagoon-like setting. The birds... I apologize to the birds... the tiny channels in this tiny world are so close that I disturb swans, geese, ducks and cormorants. I feel terrible having them fly off, calling out their protests.
~ominence and sheer luck~
A look up to the sky reveals dark-grey clouds, stacking and building over Tsehum. Most of the day I've been watching low-lying cumulo-nimbus clouds form. At first sparse and scattered they're distinctly out of place against the prevalent ceiling of high, wispy stratus clouds. It looks like I'm heading for a serious wetting as they loom bigger, badder, closer.
Tell-tale tracers... jelly-fish tentacles sweeping the earth below... heavy rain. Time to think about heading home.
I paddle over to Curteis Point to freely enjoy some million dollar waterfront... a few rolls to clear my head... I eye-ball an off-shore line out past Ker Island to the tip of James.
Homewards - southwards, a few kilometers off the coast, warily eyeing the monster, almost overhead. The ocean is becoming a confused mess... 20knot winds from the west. I'm watching - in disbelief - a stalled pressure system form right off my starboard. Wisps of cloud spiral up from it. It's still building, taller and fatter, and darker. Looks like it wants to be an anvil-headed denizon like it's brethern off to the East. As the sun starts to dip lower on the horizon I'm hit with the most amazing three dimensional view of a developing low-pressure weather system, at first beautifully side-lit, and later under-lit in shades of orange. I'm in awe... I feel the wind change direction dramatically as I skirt the outer corolla. The water is getting rough, underlying swells pushing east, two-foot chop coming at me on the front westerly quarter. A few big slammers pick me up and drop me, burying 'Tassies' fine bow. I catch a faceful of salty spray. Three sweep strokes on the right, one on the left. The tide is changing.
Off in the distance Mandarte Island glows bright as a beacon in the lowering sun...
Cordova channel... the waves even out and I roll along... A round little white jellyfish passes below me... and another... and then dozens more... I peer down into the murk... they're clam shells. I often forget how shallow it is out here...
The sun is dropping down behind Saanich Peninsula so I spin around mid-channel, and enjoy my sunset as I drift South.
It's icy cold now that the sun is gone... I'm perched on a log... warm in my woolies... a sliver of light as the full moon starts to rise up into the dark sky. I quietly munch on my sandwich and sip my water as a beautiful woman frolics in the moonbeam. Her partner fiddles with his camera... unaware...
I smile and enjoy it all.
Another amazing day...
Looking South, stern to North - chunky big swells approach. Spinning 180 degrees on paired sweep strokes - I turn the tail of each stroke into a forward push. Four fast jabs to the water, and I match speed. The ocean picks me up on it's broad body... a few strokes to find it's character... and I settle into the momentum of a solid quartering ride. I glide off towards Forrest Island. One stroke on the Port, two long sweeps off the starboard. A big smile cracks my face as I skitter happily along.
Taking a spin around Forrest is tempting but I settle for a long slow pass along it's west flank. Today the tides have another destination in mind.
~fourty cormorants~
I've always admired the Cormorant's slender, lithe body, grace in the water, and powerful flight on deeply arched wings. It seems so perfectly purpose-built... with it's long slender neck, that coils like a snake while perched, and straightens like an arrow while swimming. Powerful webbed feet placed far back on a stream-lined, minimalist body propel it gracefully underwater. A downless set of irridescent black feathers holds no air, and has no oil.
The bird truly is a specialist... and that makes it special to me.
~The other day, I stood high up on the sixth deck of the ferry, watching Cormorants diving. A fine stream of bubbles, the only trace of their impact.~
So there they are, fourty Cormorants, a-bobbing on the ocean's surface, some fly off, some fly in. I wonder what it would be like to be underwater, watching them dive around me. I sit in my kayak, paddle across my lap, rolling the waves through my hips, watching them. Watching to see... watching to experience... watching to enjoy... and when it feels right - I quietly lift my paddle - cedar warm in my hands - and start paddling... North again.
~nonsuch and such (and a second apology)~
Blink twice... tap the toes of ruby-red booties... and I'm roaring up on the rocky shores of Ker Island. I drop my Starboard deck lines into the water and slide up it's Southeast coast ...and then I veer East on a whim and a stroke.
Rough and weather torn, with steep rocky ledges, dropping vertically into the water. This group of little Islets off-shore are inhospitable. I gaze up at the twisted, leafless little Garry Oaks, bonsai'd to twiggy knee-scratchers. Square mesh cages scatter these Islets - ugly and obtrusive - I resent scientific aesthetics in this rough, randomly natural world.
A group of seals have been following me, just feet off my stern. The marine mammal protection act looms... but I can't shake 'em. They're too fast for me and seem to predict my every move. Except one...
As i jam my paddle vertically into the water during a series of sharp accelerating strokes I feel... and worse... hear... the unmistakable, hollow *thuck* of wood abruptly making contact with someone's melon. I think I see the fleeting shadow of a seal's tail dissapear under my hull. I'm shocked, concerned, and embarressed... second time today I have to apologize to the animals...
Sliding up into a cleft-like channel, I open my spray-skirt, scooch myself forward against the front coaming, and awkwardly fumble behind me... with both hands... in search of a Jonagold Apple. I press it to my lips, feeling the cool saltiness, and tear out a drooly, mouthful of juicy, tart flesh. Drifting down the little channel, turning slowly in the current, carried side-ways, a paddle-tip lazily dragsin the water. Hardy flora clings above me, winter-reddened Sedum, golden-yellow Lichen, sandy-brown grasses. In a tiny little bay I admire the sea-etched stone, and scorn a rusty aerosol can.
There's a nice current building out here, off the rocky outcrops, so I roar into it a few times, allowing it to spin me off, enjoying being it's whimsy ...and I continue on.
~endorphens or enlightenment~
It's a quiet ,contemplative time now, as I re-align myself with the current - waves dead astern - the ocean, and Tassie's hull - sluicing me towards Coal Island. Strokes are quiet and purposeful.... a tickled growl comes off a planted blade as I overpower it.
A body...a paddle... a craft ...the ocean... intimate... sensuous... simple... free...
~a ring of coal~
Coal Island is a gem. No ferries to dodge... beautiful places easily reached. Fir Cone Point... and John Passage on a good long tide... and the islets ... of course...
I round Fir Cone Point, and point my bow at Goudge Island on the other side of the passage. Sprint time!!! I'm paddling as focused as I possibly can. Knees together, pressed up against the deck, powerful paddle strokes pass vertical, over the centerline of 'Tassie'. I get across and keep on keeping on, roaring up the side of Goudge against the remnants of this morning's big flood.
A hidden bay... heart thumping... breath short... muscles on fire... lunch. From the hatch I pull out a 'Dagwood' and feast. Orange juice to wash it down. The last apple for desert.
The next few hours are spent running up and down John Passage, playing in the building eddies and rips... taking runs out to Killer Whale Point to lay and play in the surges... and ride waves back in. The last, most exhilirating run back down the passage ends as I duck out at the passage between Fernie and Goudge Islands.
~a third apology~
Klaus Island, Kolb Island, Harlock Island... Tiny little cabins, with tiny little docks, perched on tiny little islands... all nestled in a cozy lagoon-like setting. The birds... I apologize to the birds... the tiny channels in this tiny world are so close that I disturb swans, geese, ducks and cormorants. I feel terrible having them fly off, calling out their protests.
~ominence and sheer luck~
A look up to the sky reveals dark-grey clouds, stacking and building over Tsehum. Most of the day I've been watching low-lying cumulo-nimbus clouds form. At first sparse and scattered they're distinctly out of place against the prevalent ceiling of high, wispy stratus clouds. It looks like I'm heading for a serious wetting as they loom bigger, badder, closer.
Tell-tale tracers... jelly-fish tentacles sweeping the earth below... heavy rain. Time to think about heading home.
I paddle over to Curteis Point to freely enjoy some million dollar waterfront... a few rolls to clear my head... I eye-ball an off-shore line out past Ker Island to the tip of James.
Homewards - southwards, a few kilometers off the coast, warily eyeing the monster, almost overhead. The ocean is becoming a confused mess... 20knot winds from the west. I'm watching - in disbelief - a stalled pressure system form right off my starboard. Wisps of cloud spiral up from it. It's still building, taller and fatter, and darker. Looks like it wants to be an anvil-headed denizon like it's brethern off to the East. As the sun starts to dip lower on the horizon I'm hit with the most amazing three dimensional view of a developing low-pressure weather system, at first beautifully side-lit, and later under-lit in shades of orange. I'm in awe... I feel the wind change direction dramatically as I skirt the outer corolla. The water is getting rough, underlying swells pushing east, two-foot chop coming at me on the front westerly quarter. A few big slammers pick me up and drop me, burying 'Tassies' fine bow. I catch a faceful of salty spray. Three sweep strokes on the right, one on the left. The tide is changing.
Off in the distance Mandarte Island glows bright as a beacon in the lowering sun...
Cordova channel... the waves even out and I roll along... A round little white jellyfish passes below me... and another... and then dozens more... I peer down into the murk... they're clam shells. I often forget how shallow it is out here...
The sun is dropping down behind Saanich Peninsula so I spin around mid-channel, and enjoy my sunset as I drift South.
It's icy cold now that the sun is gone... I'm perched on a log... warm in my woolies... a sliver of light as the full moon starts to rise up into the dark sky. I quietly munch on my sandwich and sip my water as a beautiful woman frolics in the moonbeam. Her partner fiddles with his camera... unaware...
I smile and enjoy it all.
Another amazing day...
No comments:
Post a Comment