Of The News and The Olds

lightsky

I spent too much time in recent weeks trying to write something with the goal of an editor or expert deeming it worthy and rewarding it with praise or publication. I couldn't write anything at all that way.But this is for you if you want to read it, just a quick report of the news and the olds, neither essay nor poem, a post...barely prose.

Of  importance to me, I suppose.In the morning there was a line of white light etching the outline of the sea against the sky, and Santa Rosa Island was a blue mirage floating above the water, and the wind was humming through my bicycle wheels, and I felt the sheer bliss of being alive, the crazy unfair luck of it, but the momentary bliss.

Later that same day we said said good-bye to a friend in the place he chose to be, with two old men who remembered him from the long-ago days, and there were tears and laughter and ashes and earth, all of us aware of falling, falling, but grateful for each other and the beauty of the world.

A bit of rain came through like diamonds.