I drive to where the houses float on the bay. I can feel them subtly sway as if to breathe freely with the tide. I feel like crying when the world has wavered from any semblance of sane. I hold my tears in favor of believing in what is gained, what can be sought, and the renewed wellness that comes after the collective unwell. I remind myself that I am one of the lucky ones, and my heart is heavy for the whole of us, not as a reflection of my personal circumstances.
A wave of happiness washes over me the way it does when I am out wandering. I don't see it coming and then it is there. I welcome it and share it with the birds; there are always birds.
Some of the houseboats are precarious in their build. Their charm and decorative flare outweigh their dubious structure. There are sailboats here too but none are active on the water. I imagine what it would be like to live right on the bay itself or to be able to sail at will.
I used to ride my bike here from the other side of the bay. I would take public transportation from the East Bay to San Francisco, ride through town, over the Golden Gate Bridge and then along a path that hugged the water. I eavesdropped on old salts yukking it up in a crafty cove. I looked for pelicans, egrets and herons communing in marshy water. I pedaled along the path until it ended in mud and overgrown bushes. I stopped for coffee and rode ferry and bus back home.
I was never hindered by the humans that surrounded me then. Now, I am in a constant state of zigzag and space assessment. I am disguised, as are they - if they are conscientious. The sky is still blue and the water still ebbs and flows.
A wave of happiness washes over me the way it does when I am out wandering. I don't see it coming and then it is there. I welcome it and share it with the birds; there are always birds.
Some of the houseboats are precarious in their build. Their charm and decorative flare outweigh their dubious structure. There are sailboats here too but none are active on the water. I imagine what it would be like to live right on the bay itself or to be able to sail at will.
I used to ride my bike here from the other side of the bay. I would take public transportation from the East Bay to San Francisco, ride through town, over the Golden Gate Bridge and then along a path that hugged the water. I eavesdropped on old salts yukking it up in a crafty cove. I looked for pelicans, egrets and herons communing in marshy water. I pedaled along the path until it ended in mud and overgrown bushes. I stopped for coffee and rode ferry and bus back home.
I was never hindered by the humans that surrounded me then. Now, I am in a constant state of zigzag and space assessment. I am disguised, as are they - if they are conscientious. The sky is still blue and the water still ebbs and flows.
