The very first thing I did this morning having returned last night from Maine was to go to the De Young Museum to see "Diebenkorn, The Berkeley Years." What a show. Inspiring and up lifting. Big. Beautiful. Small. Sweet. I could have just looked at color. Or. I could have just looked at composition. Or. I could have just looked and looked and looked some more. And the people. One woman dressed in diagonal stripes milled around looking like she had walked out of one of the paintings. If only photographs were allowed. It would have kept me going for years. Put on your yellow trousers and lavender t-shirt and get there. The show ends September 29.
Wednesday afternoon time stood still. There being not a breath of wind, big boats from the New York Yacht club floated by the ledge in slow motion reflecting our mood. Going nowhere, getting nowhere in particular. Just being here.
One court. In the woods. Surrounded by dark green evergreens on three sides, bright sky above, and the sound of the sea and fog horns waft up from the Western Way. Generations have learned to play, taught, and played here and the competition can be fierce. Or. Some come for the camaraderie of drop in doubles and to absorb the green and warm light of the island.
After a brief visit from the sailors and a frenzy of activity, they are off again. As they left, the fog settled in, silencing all the busyness, returning me to myself and the beach, and the sweet sound of stillness.
It's now or never for Summer. July was too hot, then it was too cold. It rained, and the fog lingered for days. Life unfolded in slow motion. August has brought dry air and with it frantic activity. There is a constant parade of boats in the harbor, lots of people coming and going. Fast forward, Fall is on the horizon. Soaking it all in before time is up.
A big breeze blew the sailors on their way this morning. I retrieved the car from the boatyard and went to the postoffice to mail a painting to Ohio. Then the car wouldn't start, so Rosie and I had a nice walk home, arriving just in time to watch the ICs race right off our beach. It is evening now. The house is quiet and sweet solitude fills every room. The wind has died down, leaving August in the air.