On Tue, 28 Sep 2004, Wayne Harrison wrote:

what follows is the sort of thread that would pop up around this dung hill
from time to time, a few years ago...

5 AM northbound on the Pacific Coast Highway the harvest moon is setting
over a purple sea and a river of moonlight flows out of it. The lights on
the oil rigs look like fallen stars that have come to rest on invisible
islands. The predawn glow creeps over the opposite horizon. This is the
final grace note of a sonata that is syncopated 3 months out of step with
the Julian calendar. You have to experience this music for several years
in a row before you can even begin to comprehend the whole of it. At
first you are only aware of the diurnal ostinato, the ebb and flow.
Listen long enough and the distant timpany of cetaceans, though
infrequent, becomes familiar. It all begins in the fall when the
decrescendo of mole crabs on the beach will eventually give way to to
their disappearance until next season. Winter rains portend the entrance
of the larger surfperch. Soonafter the spawning halibut will draw close
to shore where the scrub-laden sandstone cliffs explode in an intense
verdure for just a few weeks. When the water temperatures rise, a key
change brings forth the elusive corbina that dance in the swash to a
secret waltz that the fly fisherman cannot decipher. Harvest moon does
return and the music repeats once again. Through it all, I wave my 9
weight baton like an amateur conductor who thinks he knows the score but
the orchestra never plays this tune the same way twice.

__________________________________________________ _____________________ \
Mu Young Lee
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