Wandering Under the Old Sun

Near the end of the day. Tired. Sun is down. It is interesting lately that I don't have many words, do I? Perhaps the more I'm living my life, the less words I have to spare.

Do you suppose that's true?

It's good being here with my sister. It's good being here alone. I think it does a body good to be on their own sometimes. I like hanging out with the dogs. I like walking and walking and walking. A lot of cars here. It is California. It is as big as some countries.

Today we drove along the coast for a bit. North. The wind was too strong to walk on the beach. At least for me. We walked inland for a while. We were surrounded by poison oak. I asked the poison oak to leave us walk in peace. The wind whipped up the dirt and threw it right at us. Hoped no poison oak oil took a ride on the dust.

Hoping for redwoods tomorrow, but anything is okay. I've got sun and I've got my sis.

Sometimes I wonder why I travel. It is always so disconcerting. Always takes me so long to feel comfortables. Must be I've accepted that discomfort is tolerable because travel is always a pilgrimage for me.

When I walk down my sister's road, away from the townhouses, I pass a patch of Earth that feels like magic: tall grass, dilapidated garden beds, old green pickup truck, ramshackle house—and crickets. I like standing still when I first hear the crickets chirping. I listen to the crickets and look at the one pale red rose that droops a bit, like a dejected suitor staring at his feet. The rose makes me smile. The crickets remind me of home—Michigan home. The sound is just plain comforting.

As I stand listening, I feel as though the whole world is alive. Which, of course, it is.

I see butterflies everywhere. Even in traffic.

I am glad I'm here.

I miss my sweetheart. I'll drive home Sunday or Monday.

Just in time for the sun.