The Sun Always Shines

Perhaps booking a place on an island wasn’t the best of ideas when California was experiencing a monsoon season. Getting to the Pacific Ocean was about a forty minute drive with no traffic over a bridge and through a city, but I didn’t want to bother if we were going to get rained out—or deal with the traffic that was created from any level of precipitation to begin with.
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And so we ventured out of our little airbnb on foot and paw to explore the island. Even with the sun peeking through the clouds at times, I had Tucker suit up most of the time so he wouldn’t be caught drenched a mile from the safety of cover. 

No dogs and no alcohol make for no fun along this beach.

Further inland, we found a coffee house where they served Tucker (because if I get a coffee, then clearly, he should get a treat as well).

And we discovered an ice cream parlor clearly made just for him.

As a true Hollywood dog, every night we needed to walk under the movie theatre’s marquee and every night, he requested entry. I explained that while he was allowed to make movies, he could not view them here; he balked at the injustice. I can’t say I disagree with him.

Ten days into the New Year, I felt like the skies would stay clear long enough for us to venture all the way back to our New Years’ Eve spot. I wanted to see what the park was like during daylight and watch the sun set over the Bay and the redwood forest I yearned to visit across the water.
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We passed a soggy, but thankfully still alive, gopher.

Looking around the park, I realized how much damage the storms had done and how many lives it may have taken. We never talk about the wildlife victims, but we should. They matter just as much as humans.  We walked away from the recovering soul, and I sent good thoughts, hoping that his family had survived the underground floods.

Tucker wasn’t allowed to touch his toes to sand or water, so we had to remain on the paved walking path that wound up the coastline. Tucker didn’t seem to mind; he certainly seemed happy enough.

There was a little teepee without explanation along the side of the path.

Mother Nature painted the sky beautifully. Her clear canvas was alive with clouds and colors.

We walked south as the sun started its decent to the horizon.

​The tiny area of sand that Tucker was allowed to trod reminded me of a set on a soundstage. 

Tucker watched the dogs walking along the sidewalk behind us while I watched the sun slide behind the hilltop redwood forest.

Storms can be catastrophic. For some, like gopher’s family, even fatal. But without storms, there is no water, and water is life. One could say water brings both life and death. Or perhaps that death is simply one chapter of life.

I am so grateful to have survived the storm, that Tucker and I have survived every storm we have encountered in our lives together. After every storm, we bear witness to the beauty left in the storm’s wake, reminding us that no matter how dark the clouds in the sky are, and no matter much rain falls, the sun shines on above us and eventually we will see it again.