Practicing

I walk like I’m biking for three miles, and then another – all before the morning sun is up. A cup of tea warms my fingers in these cut-off gloves, but I’m working on not feeling the cold. The rain picks up just as we get to where we are going.

All aboard and the plugs at our seats don’t work right. But in this view car, I’m seeing more than I ever have.
Open your eyes wide. What, if you relax, will you find?

A red sail boat
A white speed boat
A person kayaking
A gull white against waves and a white bridge
A murder of crows
The trashy trappings of our back yards and front lawns
A bag over a car, a tree, moss and the grass.
An individual standing, waiting, beverage in hand as we pass.
Markers tall and black out in the water.
A clutch of tiny black birds in amongst a dozen ducks. Mallards, all of them.
Three orane cones shoved together and heavy construction machinery.
Blackberry bushes creating brambles through the underbrush.
The trappings of this post-industrial, modern, consumerist life.
These are the things we see along this coastal line before the starlight comes.

In the night, we will sleep in two chairs, sitting up.
Off to California, the desert, the deserted life again.

And the memories of a childhood spring before me. To you, it was the middle of life. But how did I know then? I had no terms, no words, no way to gain access to the thoughts then. Only now do I know.

I come only to show my appreciation, my respect.
I come out of some deep kind of love.

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