A Moment of Joy with a Heavy Heart - March 26, 2025

After a long rainy day, the sun finally broke through—just in time for me to be off work. It was warm, the first warm day of spring. You’d think that would lift my spirits instantly, but my mind was heavy. A challenging day at work had left me drained, and grief was swimming through my thoughts so deeply it was starting to cloud my sense of purpose, my sense of value.

But I pushed myself out the door anyway. Nature has always been my refuge, and I held on to the hope that maybe—just maybe—wildlife could help soothe the ache.

I headed to a beach for some tide pooling, but I didn’t even make it to the rocks before he appeared. A Double-Crested Cormorant. But not just any cormorant—this one had a strikingly white upper body and head. I blinked. Was I seeing this right? He was rare, I would later learn, partially leucistic—a condition that affects feather pigmentation.

Leucism is a rare gift of nature, where feathers lose their color in patches, leaving behind a mosaic of white that stands out like sunlight against shadow—a quiet reminder that beauty often lives in the unusual.

He stood tall in the sunlight, regal and relaxed, soaking in the warmth. He glanced at me a few times as if to say, I see you there, human… but the sun is more important. I smiled at his attitude. Thank goodness for my 600mm lens—I stayed a respectful distance away and let myself just be with him.

But even as I took photos, grief stood next to me. I thought of my Mom. She would have loved this bird. She should be here. My thoughts spiraled. My heart ached.

I shook my head gently and moved on to the tide pools. Focus, Jennifer, I whispered to myself. Focus on the present moment. I knelt down and peered into the miniature world beneath the water’s surface—anemones, snails, hermit crabs, and tiny critters I didn’t even know the names of. It was like a bustling little alien city. No starfish today, but the life here was still magical. I tried to stay with it. To be here, not in my grief.

The first up, Painted Anemone's. They are stunning.

The painted anemone clings to the rocks like a blooming underwater flower, its vibrant reds, pinks, and greens pulsing gently with the tide—a living jewel in the tidepool’s quiet world.

Next, Rockweed. Rockweed, what you ask? Rockweed drapes across the tidepools like flowing sea-hair, offering shelter, shade, and nourishment to countless small creatures. More than just seaweed, it’s the heartbeat of these miniature marine ecosystems—protecting life with every gentle sway.

And then, a Giant Green Anemone. Tucked into the tidepool like a sea jewel, the giant green anemone glows with emerald and rose tones. Both beautiful and fierce, it waits patiently for passing prey—its vibrant form a symbol of resilience in the ever-changing rhythm of the shore.

Next, a Frilled Dogwinkle. Don’t let the frilly shell fool you—the frilled dogwinkle is a tiny tidepool troublemaker. With its ruffled armor and slow, sneaky crawl, it’s on a mission to drill into unsuspecting barnacles and mussels like it owns the place. Small, but seriously scrappy.

And last but not least, a little marine creature skittled across the tidepool. I was curious as to what it was. After some research, I found out it is a Marine Amphipod. They are like the busy bees of the sea, marine amphipods flit and scurry through tidepools in their tiny suits of armor—cleaning, munching, and minding everyone’s business. Blink and you’ll miss them, but they’re the secret sparkle keeping the ocean’s tiniest neighborhoods in order.

After climbing the rocks and basking in the spring heat, I decided I needed a pick-me-up. I headed to a coffee shop for an iced coffee.

And that’s when it happened again. I spotted him—Jewel. The resident Anna’s Hummingbird I’d seen before and affectionately named. His feathers shimmered red and green in the sunlight. I hopped out of my car in the drive-through line (no one behind me, thankfully!) and quickly snapped a few photos before he zipped away.

Jewel has claimed the drive-thru spruce tree as his royal throne. With a perfect lookout perch, access to flowers and bugs, a warmer microclimate, and fewer predators thanks to constant human activity, it’s the ideal urban kingdom for a sharp-eyed little ruler. He watches over his coffee-loving subjects with a glittering chest and a fierce sense of territory—tiny, but absolutely in charge.

Back in the car, I glanced at my rearview mirror. I was smiling. That smile wasn’t forced. It wasn’t performative. It was real. For that brief moment with Jewel, I had forgotten everything else. I was simply there. In the present moment. Joy had found a crack in the heaviness, and light had slipped in. Grief didn’t disappear. It won’t. But that moment reminded me that joy can still live alongside it. I can carry both. Even with a heavy heart, I can still have moments of joy. And isn't that what life is about? Moments of joy...