During a winter in which we’ve barely seen snow, March blew in with a roar. I caught the tail end of it on my way to an appointment this morning. Usually I scoff when people talk about dry heat being easier to bear than moist heat. In my mind, hot is hot. But if I had any skepticism about applying the parallel to cold, my gloveless two minutes in front of foaming ocean today convinced me otherwise. My hands turned as white as the froth churning up from the angry sea, and stayed that way for a long time.
That didn’t stop me from taking advantage of another photo opportunity on my way home. Why is it, that something so damp and grey and angry and unforgiving always lures me with its beauty?
Enjoy your weekend folks!