Sorry, I Have to Go — And Come Again

Leaving the proximity of my grandchildren for the open sea

Image: Author at wheel of Lucky Sperm.

I’ve always loved the quiet shores, those unfettered with lovers, or other friendly beasts. I spend the time, lately, thinking about the purchase of a boat, not to sail away, having done so too many times, but to escape, live on, make it my home.

What concerns me is the coming of change — that onshore there is a disquiet, an uncertainty, neighborhoods at odds, and I’ve thought about this on long walks, till my feet have blisters, heading inland to where the sun sets behind buildings. I have discovered I cannot unwind to the sound of clocks in towers but only to the time when I have put my bare feet on polished sand.

I hold nothing back, guilty of dark suspicions and aware the end of something is encroaching. People live with little grace anymore. I’m out of community-based knowledge, but full of love. That said, I fear what love I know is limited to the circle of the Earth, its space, and time.

I’ve been busy making sure to live out one last dream, that upon the ocean I shall breathe my last breath.

So, I should expect in the year coming, I will be somewhere, not here, no longer writing my words in a walled garden, or in a park, sat in a coffee shop, or learning in libraries, because…