Latest from Drakes Estero
July 01, 2012 by Jules Evens
Dawn. Spring tide. Fog shrouds the estuary. A shore-cast tree trunk–contorted, branching skyward–rests in the shallows. On its twisted branches roost a half-dozen cormorants, some with wings outstretched or akimbo, others standing upright, necks coiled into graceful question marks. That congregation, silhouetted by the morning light, suspended on the rising tide between the pewter sky and the mercurial bay, conjures a prehistoric diorama, a world awaiting sunlight parables.
April 17, 2012 by Jules Evens
Hiking along Drakes Estero, Jules Evens meditates on eelgrass, sea geese, and the footprint of humanity in a wild place.