Almost Easter and almost a quarter of the way through what is already an incredible year albeit for mostly the wrong reasons. Those of an apocalyptic bent will find rich seams to mine or mind bend as they ponder the fateful portents of the past few months, while the rest of us might at best wonder at the horribly impersonal nature of weather and geology.
For me geologic time creeps closer as I look at a 19th birthday for my oldest, and also look at a just turned 16 going on 26 who wants the world to hurry up and work on his time, on his terms.
A big ask, and one to grow wise on. That or grow old.
This past week I've been up looking after Lazarus himself, my Dear Old Dad, who keeps belting out show tunes of vitality as his body fights and his mind rages on. 'Up here for thinking, mate', he might say, and therein lies a lesson as as long as there is a journey going on up top the old body can go jump, which is what it's planning on doing anyway.
Until then we hold on and take in the ride.
No surfing to be done as I watch what has happened this past week in home waters, waters that touched on close to epic last Sunday. I hope the pro boys get a lick of it for the contest this coming week.
Pics; The Devil himself with Pa, Mr 19 looking a little devilish himself, and a favourite reef which I think is the one I used to call beautiful White House until I found someone had named it a little more appropriately poetic. Not 'Thor's Hammer', but you get the drift. That shot is from the mighty Ed Sloane.