Once again, the world changes....
A strange haze filters through the trees. Sun falls warm against my cheek. A voice on the radio implores, "...let me be your hero..."
A vulture swoops into my field of vision.
I drive, drive, drive to a village near the water. It is a good day to drive. I am happy to be engaged in the activity of driving, though without a stickshift, there is less action.
I am meeting someone ten minutes from her home, an hour and ten from mine. Fair is fair; she came to my house when I was disabled. I enjoy her company. I am learning to enjoy the company of women, a brand new skill for me.
Heading homeward on Chesapeake/Myrtle/Friendship, (prosaically, 261), I am hard-pressed to not hit the Honda hatchback dawdling in front of me as I steal glances at the water through the trees, between the houses.
A misty shape of mystery taunts me at horizon's edge. Last time I was here, fingertips and forehead pressed to a plateglass window, Sid, reading my mind, or my face, if there's a difference, told me what it was. I wish my memory were better.
When the road wanders closer to the water, I see choppy waves of ice, frozen like stucco to the shore. Passing the marina, I count five separate herds of geese and one fleet of gulls whose backs shine blue in the strong afternoon sun.
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