Level Set

Magic, always being made, as if by gods who walk the earth, leaving golden footprints.

Over several months I had occasional bouts with doubt, some very deep, very nearly terminal. But after each time, another piece fell into place. Most recently, more pieces fell, until I finally began to see the real picture. It really does not matter how she explores her world on her own terms, as she must. No more difference what she does than if she has a dance, or a conversation; or if I do the same. It’s all experience and connection and entertainment, to her the gentle predator whose joy is in the joy of her prey’s surrender. For real love, soul-mating love, love that has broken the hearts of other and dare I say lesser men … there is only me.

Reports had the coast under a blanket of showers. We arrived and the clouds magically cleared.

The room had a fireplace, bare stone floors, walls that rang.

Dinner, the only open restaurant in town, whose bright panes lit the street. Polished nautical fittings, fresh white paint, couples and families, intimacy and conviviality, live jazz, the clink of glasses and aromas of fine food. Unexpected. Magical.

Drizzles in the dark, puddles surprisingly deep, wet feet, warm laughter.

Walls that rang.

A morning that swiftly passed followed by dungeness crab cakes and a roasted salmon hash and sunshine scattering the clouds over the beach. Strolls along the water, seabirds picturesque, the ocean song humming through the sand to a goddess playing at naiad, prone and listening.

A late afternoon drive over coastal mountains back to civilization’s cellular networks to check on the home crowd and find more wonder as darkness fell over art galleries and glassware shops and a bar with no name. Gin and popcorn, hard-faced friendly locals, Ella Fitzgerald and Nina Simone on the juke box.

Magic, always being made, as if by gods who walk the earth, leaving golden footprints.