This is growing over the sandy cliff at the inner edge of the beach. The flowers are a delicate pale pink in long narrow clusters. The leaves of the tree are flat, making me think they are a sort of cedar — not a pine or spruce. But I know so little about trees.
Another slight shudder today, the earth complaining and grumbling its warning. We are driving up toward that area tomorrow, which will make me uneasy, but I know I ought not retreat from possibilities.
We were thinking on our walk about how primal the ocean is; the water and sand and rocks and some sort of algae or seaweed have been there not just for millennia, but for millions of years. Or more. One’s teensy brain can’t really grasp it, but the toes in the sand and the wind in the hair and the sun on the back of the neck all proclaim it to be so.