Spit mixed with dirt – Muddy words flow

Black and white only. No explanations. All photos mine. ~tara ©2020

black and white only. No explanations. All photos mine. ~tara ©2020

Black and white only. No explanations. All photos mine. ~tara ©2020
I’ve been spending as much time as I can on my beach, letting the quiet soak into my bones and its peace cover my soul.
I have a narrow road to recovery but it is these moments that I find myself able to heal, little pieces at a time. Parts of me feeling betrayed. Parts relieved. Parts hurting and parts full of love and loneliness.
It’s cold. I have not seen the temperatures rise above single digits (Fahrenheit) for several weeks. Mostly staying right around -5 to 2* F. Somehow, when I’m sitting on the beach, the waves lapping at my boots, the cold doesn’t penetrate quite as deeply. I feel peace and yet a little bit of restlessness. Winter is far from over. I’m okay with that, too.

~tara caribou | ©2020
There aren’t many places in the world that make me happy more consistently than the ocean. Or, perhaps, the beach by the ocean (because let’s face it, I’m not out in the water… it’s Alaska, for Pete’s sake).
It’s the smell in the air. The wide open spaces. The sounds of seagulls and eagles screeching. The waves crashing or simply lapping. The view that is always the same and always different. It’s magic and tragedy and dangerous and holiness all at once.

Nearing sunset at 10.30pm, the volcano Redoubt is shrouded in a glowing mist. [July, Cook Inlet]

The sun just touching the mountains with the volcano Illiamna rising on the left. [April, Cook Inlet]
The summer months offer long days and the sun never sets in the same place each night. In winter, the skies are ultra clear and the mountains seem to grow larger.

An eagle hunts at the mouth of the river. Redoubt towers in background, silent and powerful. [March, Cook Inlet]

The ice-filled water churns on the shore. I may have got a little too close for this shot, falling through two feet of snow that was (unbeknownst to me) undercut by the waves. Cold wet feet ending this day’s adventures. [February, Cook Inlet]
It’s not just my own local beach that draws me. Further south down the road a piece (where I visit my optometrist, who, due to health issues regarding my eyes, I must see every three months), is the town of Homer, nestled on Kachemak Bay with an incredible view (and also the town I was born in, back in the seventies).

Driving down the hill known as Baycrest, coming into Homer. The sun is just about to rise over the mountains straight ahead at 9:30am. The Homer Spit stretches miles out into the bay. [November, Kachemak Bay]

And here again at the top of Baycrest (Homer being just left, out of the frame), at sunset, just before 4pm. I love the glaciers you can see. [November, Kachemak Bay]
The view, for me, never gets old.




Whether up close or far off, snowy, rainy, sunny, windy…. this… THIS is where I want to be. Breathing. Dreaming. Writing. Living.


~tara caribou
Also, PS… I also found out if I drop my phone on my beach, this happens:


who knew?!!
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