Aslama

I pause my morning smoke and meditation to retrieve a bright blue pool noodle almost out the left-open gate.  Bed it safely back in the orange toy bucket against the chilly Autumn wind. Pandora is playing a song that meant a lot to me at one point. Exhale yet again and this is the one. This is the time when I truly let go and watch the memories drift with the frozen cigarrete smoke until diluted enough to not seem to matter.

The Mother

I think it's cause for celebration, in certain cultures... or eras, or species... something i think i've read.

Here and now I'm scared to acknowledge my own daughter's new ability to grow life. I'd hate to embarass her...

I've just decided I think my favorite thing about the seashore is not the smell or the air that lets your skin finally breathe or even the waves, never not interesting.

It's that for some reason, even though the gravity must be at least minutely stronger at Big Sur than high in my mountain home, the Pacific draws my feet and mind up and out.

How, I'll never know, which makes it all the easier to smile dumbly into the thinning mist and feel that childhood rapture, irrepresibly caught up in the onrushing unknown and recognizing that what is happening to you has never happened to anything ever before