rhewllyd: on a slight shift of perspective
This one being brought on by the intense cold these days in northern California writ large, and the S.F. Bay Area writ smaller.
"Rhewllyd" is the Welsh word for "frosty" or "icy"; I liked it immediately as it rhymes with my name (which I also know is of Welsh origin, meaning 'gray' or 'gray-haired' — an aspect of which I have now actually attained in my 6th and a half decade of existence ::chuckle::).
I had been ping-ponging with Pi for synonyms for the word 'cold' or 'coldness,' and that exchange flowed from the usual canonical words to more arcane and obscure ones, with sources far-flung: Old English, Old Norse, Irish, Scottish Gaelic, Welsh... and it was at that last linguistic stop that today's chosen titular word emerged for me.
And why was I looking for such a word to begin with? Well, on my noon constitutional I walked down to Aquatic Park, then up Jefferson Street towards Fisherman's Wharf but then took an unplanned detour, turning left towards the pier where the famed Scoma's seafood restaurant is located. Standing at the pier, I saw in the distance a view of Black Point at Fort Mason that I hadn't seen before — framed as it was by the old industrial fishing buildings and apparatus of the area, and was quite taken by it.
Mostly because, in the foreground, was also an unusual view of the greenly turbid but calm water, water lanes, a few boats, the usual avian creatures (seagulls, corvids) piercing the air with their swoops and calls, and... something my eye was drawn to down at the water by the walkway there. I would soon see that these were aesthetically satisfying kelp forms.
The kelp leaves, or fronds, glistening underwater, were a deep inky indigo in color with the surfaces of some mottled in chalky white fields or even stripes, patterns that rendered them a kind of animal grace, like it was some vestigial mammal or amphibian sleeping or floating gently in the shallows.
I stayed for a while to look at these creatures, and noticed the avians looking at them with me, as often as at me. Perhaps they were wondering, "...what is the wingless biped looking at so intently?" ::chuckle::
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I'm glad I made that detour this morning, instead of walking mindlessly the same route I usually take late at night, straight up Jefferson to parts northeasterly. It may have had to do with the fact that I was listening to another of Samaneri Jayasāra's samādhi on YouTube; her alto voice is so soothing to my ear and calming to my heart, and the stories she tells, whether of hers or others, limpid in their grace and penetrating to the heart of things.
Just like the kelp. Just like them kelps.
