I was out walking, just dawn, the southern shoreline — at the southernmost reach of the United States.
Out there, the birds were extraordinarily friendly — it was like being there, at the southern border, nearly 200 miles downwards of Florida, they weren’t so discontent with the condition of the human order. They lined up, moving away — just slightly — as I walked the pier. These were plovers, gulls, pelicans. In fact, the pelicans were the most unconcerned — they flew straight at me, repeatedly, as they prepped their dives. Straight up, straight down.
As the dawn-light emerged, striding across the waves, flickering like blades, I found a stairway into the water — waves washing over the lower steps. And I was thinking about deck, running into the water — about flow, the river, the metaphor of movement and the channel. Life, moves. And you step into the storm, the churning waves — either committed to move into the current: going with the flow, being in the flow.
Or you can just stand there.
As the new year emerges, already I’m stepping into the waves, coursing into the flow.
The stairs are there, ascending, descending — step into it.
Tim | Key West, south shore 10.55 pm | 1.2.11
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