Once again, the world changes....
Driving across the bridge, I look down, always looking down, into the sparkling waters of the bay. Swirling patterns appear, marbleized blue and white, indicating current or depth or something more mysterious than those.
I think of my childhood desire to be a marine biologist, and wonder why I let go of that dream. Little encouragement, perhaps, or not enough motivation. For years, I drifted on the "you can do anything you want to, dear" cloud, which is at once liberating and paralyzing. I floated aimless, purpose-free, until I was tapped and Awoken to the powerful Love all around and within me. It is now my turn to tap. In the meantime, a career of Artist is psychically satisfying, though it doesn't pay well. So far.
I spot Mustangs, partly because 'Vettes have gotten so scarce these days. I wish on Volkswagon Beetles, which have been rechristened in our non-violent household from Punch- to Wish-Buggies. I blow by one, two, three, State Troopers, each time easing off the gas, checking the spedometer, wondering who they're after, if they're not stopping me at sixty-five and seventy miles per hour.
Herds of geese are everywhere. I spy ducks, a hawk, a pair of swans, curly-necked and graceful. From the bridge, I can see the beach of Sandy Point State Park, where one day not long ago (oh, long, long, this past summer, long ago) an egret?- crane?- heron?- (I didn't ask; it didn't tell) and I stared at one another, beady-eyed, for a few precious, breathless, motionless moments.
The clouds grow thick, obscuring the rising moon. A slice of sky dusky rosepink ignites the horizon.