greygirlbeast (greygirlbeast) wrote,

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"I don't care what you do. We were made for each other, me and you."

Here in Providence, it's 48˚F, but they claim it "feels" like 59˚F (I don't buy it). And here's the stale Hell of yesterday:


Yesterday, no writing. Yesterday, under the wide carnivorous sky, we left Providence and drove south and across the West Passage of Narragansett Bay and out to Conanicut Island and Beavertail. We'd not been to Beavertail since June 26th; we both knew it had been a very long time, but not that long. We used to go every week or two. It's farther evidence of how withdrawn I've become. Anyway...

It was really much too cold (forties Fahrenheit, plus a vicious wind), but I wanted away from the House and away from the City and, mostly, away from the Room. I told Spooky yesterday, in a spurt of prognostication, that my biography will likely be titled Room. There were a goodly number of people out, including a large number of birders. On the western side of the point, we climbed down to out swimming cove, where the freezing water was the color of a Coke bottle and the sun blasted everything. The waves were high and wild and smashed crystals against the Cambrian strata. I took my first ever underwater photograph, posted last night. Then we headed past the lighthouse to the eastern shore, facing Newport, where we watched gulls and cormorants and King Eiders (Somateria spectabilis) in the sky and bobbing on the sea. Neither of us had seen King Eiders before; there was a decently sized flock. I watched a tug towing a small barge towards Newport, against the heavy swells. As we were leaving, we saw four crows, all arranged most propitiously (yes, she meant propitiously) in a cedar tree. At least, it looked like a cedar.

We also swung by Fort Wetherill and West Cove, because Spooky wanted to, but I stayed in the car. The chill had gotten to me, and, in the car, the sun was warm. I slept all the way back to Providence, deep and dreamless sleep, some of the best I've had in months.

We were back home before dark.

There are photos, behind the cut:

Either there was less now on the island, or it melted more quickly. We saw very little, though the mainland is still blanketed. We are expected a bit more tonight. View to the west, on North Road, north of Jamestown, headed south.

Our swimming cove, view to the northwest.

Also at the swimming cove, just before I deployed Nemo for the first time. View to the west.

You guessed it. I was trying to think about Cambrian stratigraphy, in hopes it would help me ignore the cold. No such luck. The tidal pool at my feet is where the underwater photo was taken, with the camera submerged very near where my feet are.

Birders on the east side of the point. View to the southeast.

The aforementioned tug. I couldn't make out the boat's name. All I can discern is "McAllister [ ]." View to the southeast.

Three of the four crows. Propitious, I say. View to the northwest.

All photographs Copyright © 2014 by Caitlín R. Kiernan and Kathryn A. Pollnac

Part of me believes that I would have a better chance of making peace wit New England were I not trapped in this dirty town. The Island did not see intent on suffocating me. The island was not inside the Room in the House on the Street in the City.


Back home, after dinner, I sat in front of my computer for two hours, doing nothing notable. Then, in a fit of boredom, Spooky and I watched Peter Berg's Battleship (2012), which is, yes, a movie based on a board game. This movie could only have been worse if Roland Emmerich had directed it, instead of someone pretending to *be* Roland Emmerich. Berg also made Hancock (2008), which I actually liked quite a lot. However, after what we witnessed last night, I am relieved he lost his bid to make Dune. We also watched the Season One finalé of The Americans. Bravo and brava. The series redeemed its use of a Phil Collins song in the pilot by using a Peter Gabriel song ("Games Without Frontiers") at the end of the finalé. More, please.

Across the day, I read about William S. Burroughs, black holes, the relationship between Native North Americans and the horses that were reintroduced by Europeans, and about the elasmosaurid Aristonectes quiriquinensis.

That was yesterday. Oh, and eBay auctions (!!!), which I really need to fucking push.

Red rain is coming down,
Aunt Beast
Tags: 2013, bad movies, beavertail, birding, birds, dune, fort wetherill, good tv, nemo, outside, peter gabriel, plesiosaurs, shut in, stale hell, the sea, the wide carnivorous sky, underwater, west cove, william s. burroughs
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