Not so long ago the full moon drew one of our largest tidal swings through the nearby bay. Nearly 12 feet of water coursed in and out, and I went down to have a look. What I found was a journal of change. Its lines were written with light and water and feet; and, as I looked more closely ice too. Such a journal put me in mind of Henry Thoreau and his journals of change.
The whole bay on which I float often was mud to the horizon, and dotted here and there were clammers, who, during this tide, had a chance to dig in beds that are usually submerged. A lot had opened up, even as the season feels devoted to closing inward.
Here are some visual notes from the day, with brief interpretations beneath. You may, of course, read them differently, see different stories. Let us know what you see.