Dark Corners and Bright Sunsets

One of my favorite pastimes at the beach is reading, as I have mentioned before in these pages, and specifically British murder mysteries.  I can recall many, many evenings here and in Duck, in many houses, engrossed in P. D. James and Martha Grimes and Ruth Rendell and Robert Galbraith (AKA J. K. Rowling), and even Rex Stout.  This Christmas I gave Martha a book of previously-unpublished short stories by P. D. James and two Ruth Rendell books, which I have been enjoying reading as well as she.  The reason I did not post anything on this almost-daily blog yesterday is that I was engrossed all day in Dark Corners, which was published last year and was Rendell's last book before she passed away in 2015.

It was agreeably creepy, as most Ruth Rendell books are!  The last paragraph was especially poignant (or prophetic?):  "Tom put his newspaper down and leaned back in his chair.  'And now, now it's all over.'"  And of that I am truly sorry.  But the other book is A Demon in My View, which I seem to have overlooked in my thorough exploration of Rendell over the years, so perhaps it is not all over after all.  There will be plenty of time for the new Wallace Stevens biography and Gödel, Escher, Bach next week.  First we have to get through the serious books.

I ran six miles yesterday pre-Rendell and should have taken today off, but it was just too beautiful a morning not to run.  And it is supposed to rain tomorrow morning. 

High, puffy clouds, moving out to sea, and bright blue skies coming in from the north:  I decided to run another interval workout as I did last week, and it went very well, each one faster than the last one, and all of them a good five seconds faster than last week.  I knew I was pushing the envelope, though, so I was especially sensitive to the slightest little niggle or tightness, which thankfully never came.  It is a satisfying feeling to finish a workout and know you have given it your all.

Martha walked six miles, out to Fort Macon, and I passed her on my way back.  We are becoming accustomed to this route and have many landmarks - the entrance to the picnic area halfway there, the historic marker for the Union Artillery Emplacement, and this interesting place one-half mile on the right at the entrance to Sea Dreams called "Bridgehouse."

Still, despite Sea Dreams, it is hard to escape the inauguration of our next President scheduled for this coming Friday.  The internet is having a hilarious time!  Now we have learned that Potus Trumpus will be taking off the weekend and not starting work until Monday.  "Why?" one internet wag wondered.  "So that he can heal from his injuries when he places his hand on the Bible and it bursts into flames?"  I stopped at Food Lion after my run to buy some things and the tabloid at the checkout counter screamed out to me, "CROOKED HILLARY WILL DIE IN JAIL After Backstabbing Bill Sells Her Out!!"  One wonders what the effect of calling Hillary crooked for 25 years or so, even in such a disreputable place as the checkout line, might have had on the election.  She is, I am proud to say, the woman I voted for.

So I escape to take a long walk on the beach, finding only broken sand dollars and caved-in whelks today.  Down by the pier a small colony of seagulls seems to be intent on breaking open tiny shells and feeding on what is inside.  One of them, no larger than the others, is especially aggressive; he has had too many cups of coffee! -  he flaps his wings and chases all the others away, and is alone in the middle of a big empty space.

But this place is so very beautiful, after all, despite the tabloids and the angry seagulls; every evening seems to end with these gorgeous sunsets, a balm to heal and soothe the spirit.