Up early, moving toward a new life. Driving down a super slab in darkness.
A wreck on the highway. A truck venting smoke from underneath the cab. Thousands of headlights backed up. Some commuters may never make it to work today. Might be a good thing.
Trucks and more trucks. Triple trailers sashaying like dancer on Soul Train.
I keep it slow. No hurrying in my life anymore.
I am thinking about my walk on the beach with Glen the previous afternoon. Our old friend, the old bald eagle, put in his regular appearance. He stood on the wet sand and paid no attention to the vehicles zooming by him. Who zooms by a bald eagle standing near the ocean? They never slowed down.
I summarized to Glen my idea for the detective novel I’ve been cogitating for a couple years. He listened and asked questions. I pitched some plot points and plot turns. He listened and asked questions. He also taught me a new word—dremel. Soon, I’ll be needing a dremel in my life.
Glen has become one of the great teachers in my life. We met cleaning toilets.
The sky beings to lighten. Orange and yellow sneak into the picture.
I’ve got jazz going. There’s a break. The DJ’s surely stoned. It is absolute joy to hear someone rhapsodize about an obscure bossa nova track.
I keep thinking about recent meetings and reunions, all which took place at tables in the far corners of non-corporate joints.
The reunions went smashingly well. Laughter. Storytelling. Hands across the table. Candor. Truth. Empathy. Revelations. We all want to be cared about.
We’ve all been through a lot. We’re 20 and 30 years into this together. We’re rallying and growing stronger.
The meeting was with a first time author in her 80s. She’s written a fantastic book about mind, body and heart. She wants to get more readers. She’s willing to gig. She needs some advice about where and how to gig.
I can help her.
Hawks on the fence posts. I never stop counting them.
Sky transcends into a different shade of light blue. Purple contrails heading south.
Plumes from a mill and plumes from the ag processing plant. The early shift at work.
Driving. Driving. Driving.
I turn off the jazz. I drive and the stars and crescent moon disappear and I remember the earth is traveling at 23,000 miles an hour.