Lingering Under

It was a desolate day to go visiting Paddy’s Island. The beach close in to shore was choked with ice and small, stranded bergs. A loose and uncertain surface to slip through. The wind was biting, harsh and howling, reminder of the trade one makes to have the coast to themselves. Not that many actually ever come here. I’ve been a bunch, and it’s always only me. The road to arrive gives no hint of access, and after parking, the old public footpath takes you down by a slippery streambed. There is no other reasonable descent from the clifftop. To be here in winter feels both breathless and calming, lingering under the tideline as it slips ever lower in the distance. This evening, I found what I’d been craving — a little colour against the oppressive greys of winter. Warm, ruddy reds that perhaps won’t warm like they suggest. But they sure do stand a chance of setting a spark in me.

February 2, 2026
North Medford, Nova Scotia

Year 19, Day 6658 of my daily journal.