The Edge of Winter
They stand where winter fades to gray,
where restless tides pull time away.
The echoes of what came before
slip silent past the ocean’s roar.
A surfboard rests against their side,
a fragile line, the turning tide.
The wind, once sharp with bitter breath,
now whispers change instead of rest.
Above, two birds in fading light
ride unseen currents, lost from sight.
No rush to leave, no need to stay,
just watchers as the dusk turns gray.
For seasons pass, yet never die,
each ending just a thin disguise.
A moment lingers, slipping through—
the past, the present, born anew.
This afternoon at the mouth of the Elwha was everything I love about photography—good company, perfect weather, and a landscape that seemed to shift with every passing moment. Our group of eight wandered along the shoreline, watching the light change, the tide pull back, and the last hints of winter linger in the crisp air.
Standing at the water’s edge, it felt like a pause between seasons—where winter fades but isn’t quite gone, and spring waits just beyond the waves. The sky stretched in soft blues and grays, the driftwood stood like silent sentinels, and two birds soared overhead, riding the wind with effortless grace.
It reminded me of the quiet pull of time, how every ending carries the weight of what came before.
Some days, photography is about more than just the image—it’s about being in the moment, feeling the quiet shift of the world around you, and capturing the in-between.
