San Jose Channel & Punta Colorada, Isla San Jose
Time distorts itself when away from the everyday world. We may have awakened wondering if we were affected by the turning of the clocks back home but with the rising of the sun, none of that mattered anymore. We moved with the flow of a mile of dolphins undulating like a winding road ahead of us. Patterns formed by their actions stick in our minds. First they were a distant line, straight across the sea with random leaping motions like popcorn in a pot. Then they swarmed around us, embracing us as if part of the pod. They scattered, dashing after fish. The birds rushed in; diving boobies, plunging pelicans and thieving frigatebirds all looking for a snack. They went on. So did we. Did this happen in a moment or did it go on all day? It really didn’t matter. All that was of importance was that we were there.
Silence in the water. Lying quietly, barely moving, we could drift with the current, voyeurs on the life below. A red rock amphitheater reflected in the water creating the illusion that we were floating in a copper sea. The fish did not look up, they cared not that we were there. Our breathing was slow and regular, relaxed. Was this view of the world the same that the dolphins got?
This is a timeless land. Plants are not tied to the season but to the water that falls from the sky. It might come in summer. It might come in fall. It might not come this year at all. But when it does, there is no time to waste. Roots fan out, searching for any drop that seeps into the soil. Gather it, save it, use it to grow! Ephemerals flower. Cacti swell. Leaves spring into being. Little moisture soaks into the soil. Most trickles rapidly downward into arroyos, gathering into a rushing roar that scours the rocks, cutting into rocky walls and depositing masses of debris in the eddies. Countless centuries carved the towering walls of fossil filled reworked ash and decorated them with honeycombs and ledges. Our presence in this sculpted world on Isla San Jose was only a blink of time geologically but a memory implanted for a lifetime for us.
Bedtime is not a number on the clock but a response to the body’s needs. The day was full. Exhaustion demands that time for bed is nigh.
Time distorts itself when away from the everyday world. We may have awakened wondering if we were affected by the turning of the clocks back home but with the rising of the sun, none of that mattered anymore. We moved with the flow of a mile of dolphins undulating like a winding road ahead of us. Patterns formed by their actions stick in our minds. First they were a distant line, straight across the sea with random leaping motions like popcorn in a pot. Then they swarmed around us, embracing us as if part of the pod. They scattered, dashing after fish. The birds rushed in; diving boobies, plunging pelicans and thieving frigatebirds all looking for a snack. They went on. So did we. Did this happen in a moment or did it go on all day? It really didn’t matter. All that was of importance was that we were there.
Silence in the water. Lying quietly, barely moving, we could drift with the current, voyeurs on the life below. A red rock amphitheater reflected in the water creating the illusion that we were floating in a copper sea. The fish did not look up, they cared not that we were there. Our breathing was slow and regular, relaxed. Was this view of the world the same that the dolphins got?
This is a timeless land. Plants are not tied to the season but to the water that falls from the sky. It might come in summer. It might come in fall. It might not come this year at all. But when it does, there is no time to waste. Roots fan out, searching for any drop that seeps into the soil. Gather it, save it, use it to grow! Ephemerals flower. Cacti swell. Leaves spring into being. Little moisture soaks into the soil. Most trickles rapidly downward into arroyos, gathering into a rushing roar that scours the rocks, cutting into rocky walls and depositing masses of debris in the eddies. Countless centuries carved the towering walls of fossil filled reworked ash and decorated them with honeycombs and ledges. Our presence in this sculpted world on Isla San Jose was only a blink of time geologically but a memory implanted for a lifetime for us.
Bedtime is not a number on the clock but a response to the body’s needs. The day was full. Exhaustion demands that time for bed is nigh.
