Looking Toward to Tipping Point

Ore HouseBetween rain showers and tides, Aki and I explore the Sheep Creek delta. From the number of loitering gulls and crows, a lot of feed still collects on the beach. The birds hold their ground as we walk out to the water. I watch the tide as they watch us, making sure we are not cut off by the quick moving flood.

deltaAki would like to run with a gang of bird dogs on the other side of the delta, but I hug the creek, wishing we didn’t have to share it with the dogs’ noisy people. They talk, yell at their dogs, blow whistles, talk some more, and ignore the reflection of fading fall color in the gray channel waters.

feathersThe yelling jerks me out of a reflection on the merits of Facebook, hating its invasive practices, loving the access it gives me to distant friends. When will I reach the tipping point? I dislike the political hate posts that appear unsolicited on my newsfeed; hate each ad that demonstrates how much the Facebook folk know about my internet search history. It will only get worse. When it does, I’m off the platform.



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