Today it rained. After a week or two of sunny balmy San Diego weather, April gathered its grey overcast coat and sent down fog, mist, drizzle, and a scattering of showers that seemed to proclaim, yes, it is still spring, not summer. The oddities of the seasonal changes rested, at least for a day, and here on my end of the Cape, the sky is grey, the wind is a quiet roar, and the railings are dripping with cold droplets. In the month of summer, I listened to various advice and did not plant, even though I knew sweet peas ought to in before St. Patrick’s Day. Wait until Memorial Day. It reached sixty-five. It reached seventy. Finally I put Explorer and Watermelon sweet pea seeds in the ground on Friday. I got plants over the weekend and put them out: cilantro; lavender, both provence and hidcote; lemon thyme; plus a ranunculus named Bloomingdale’s. I kept the basil inside,as I was advised. Good thing, as you know, it rained, April returned.
Friday I drove to Race Point where Right Whales have been feeding for more than a month.I just went for the drive, the beach. As I made my way down the sand, I heard a couple begin to exclaim. Whales, I asked? Yes, indeed. Kindly lending me their binoculars, they pointed, I peered but saw nothing but white caps. The blue was extraordinary, a deep aquamarine tinted by three o’clock sun, and the white was vivid. Handing back the borrowed lens, I watched from the beach, encouraged by the courteous pair. And there it was, a dark smokey plume of spray, signalling Whale! I saw many such plumes, my first sightings since I moved here, and I was ecstatic. I watched, until it got too cold for me, and I turned to head back. I thought of Stanley Kunitz and his Wellfleet Whale, and Adrienne Rich, whom we lost a few days ago. Many more people had gathered, and every so often, I turned back, to see another soft spray of air blown exuberantly into the air, as if to say, we are here, here we are.