The Samuel Boardman Scenic Corridor.
It is exactly that. Scenic. It is 12 miles of rugged coastline, secret coves, surprising prairies, sand dunes, Sitka Spruce forests, and scores of spires, arches, stacks and islands. On the North Pacific coast it is a place of many moods, from dark, wet, and threatening to bright, sparkling, and playful. I've come for a few days with my latest acquisition, the Sigma 18-35 1:1.8 Art lens to capture some moods of first and last light. Here's what I see...

Sunrise-Sunset

Somewhere between the dark, the light,
the sense is real, if only slight,
The Edge is here, all things might be,
Old Truths are here, some call to me.

the edge

Night's clouds enfold the sinking ball,
stars soon light the Celestial Hall,
the night's release I too will know,
and on the strand the faintest glow.

circling the sun

To quest, to seek, to watch, to wait,
new day's glory should be our faite.
Mysterium the Deep draws nigh,
no answer will then satisfy.

mysterium

At water's edge I now at dwell,
the gentle rise, the gentle fell,
the day's bright disc now other's sight,
embraced by the approaching night.

approaching night

At ebb tide's low, the open strand,
their great gray visage oe'r the sand,
a bulwark all, a cornerstone
each stand against long time alone.

monolith

Ferrelo Cape now hidden shade,
The golden orb its transit made.
A final burst of what has flown,
reflected light now all we own.

Ferrelo Cape

Faint hints of red and pink arise,
the dawn now grows on eastern skies.
Another day once more is born.
Is light as sweet as on the morn?

sweet the morn

New stories flow from water's trails,
the shifting forms within their swales,
land mov'd, committed to the deep,
long time not slow nor fail to keep.

trails and tales

The mists of morn, the mists of time,
still cling throughout the first light's climb.
So how to see the vision fair,
found at my feet reflected there.

where now the vision?

Auriferous the final light,
Sol's pow'r has now fair taken flight.
Desires flow, what dreamers dream,
while whist upon the golden gleam.

golden

A diff'rent light though same the place,
each dawn presents a diff'rent face.
The tides press on, the earth turns round,
our blessings grow, myst'ries abound.