Thoughtful like a motherfucker...

The sun broke at an opportune moment. It'd been raining all day as i worked my hours away on the timeclock... then aboard my bike i rode away from the warehouse with thoughts of freedom and blank expression and a whole expanse of nothing. Down by the beach where all the stones have been beaten smooth and twenty foot tides swallow and unearth the shore, i put my bike aside and looked out for a time. The sun feels good in my eyes as it catches a low autumn zenith and passes down toward the horizon. My body misses it (though i don't claim any emotional imbalance by lack thereof), i let it in when i can. And then out hundreds of yards a deep spout of water gleaning bits of sunlight, shimmering on its descent. A pair of humpbacks zigzagging the Sound of Sitka.

A friend suggested the other day that i may be leaving again soon. She sensed it in words i'd written, not by the sound of my voice. Told me my token shiftiness was pervading all and mused whether a restlessness was creeping up on me again. Could read through it in a letter, see that my direction lay away...

And i look around at this and wonder why... and know she's right. I'm here and yet already leaving. Searching for something, but won't admit it. Because i don't know what it is and the show must go on. And everyday passes so sweetly, whether i'm feeling particularly inspired or not. I'm a living breathing blank with an awful potential for projection and absorption, devouring words on the page and the many personalities around, mimicking and remitting. I orbit ideas as in the (micro)cosmos and follow anything with potential, with merit. I'll follow for a while... there's no other way. As a wise one said, "Hard tellin' not knowin.'"


Mount Edgecumbe~ just beyond those whales...