Low Tide Sky
Remnants of The Resistance
From the deck of our houseboat one can see the remains of Billy's tugboat that was sunk in the middle of Arquez Canal during the houseboat wars, as part of the resistance against the developers who wanted to build docks, commercialize the waterfront, and boot out the anchor-outs for the high rent crowd. This is the story our friend Stephen tells us, an anchor-out himself since the early 70's. Compromise was reached. The docks were built. But the anchor-outs were allowed to stay and some still call the anchorage their home where they live off the grid in the waters of Richardson Bay, with unparalleled views of the City, unfettered views of life. But at low tide, one still sees the remnants of that resistance long ago from the ringside seat of our houseboat, the Dandelion, where we now float.
Double Barrel Muse
One cat’s on my shoulder,
the other one's in my lap
coffee in one hand pilot
pen in the other and the
notepad of thick line-less
paper with purchase rests
on the narrow arm of the
leather chair — all of us
ready for take-off.
Breakfast At The Low Tide Cafe
It was an extraordinary morning ~
Apprenticeship Of A Lifetime
Recovery
It’s where his best stories arrived without fail, in the shower with warm water running down his back. Later, pencil sharp, notebook open, squeaky clean, he’d chew on the pink eraser and try to remember. The muse just laughed. That’s how he learned the best stories never make the page. (Previously published in 50-Word Stories)
As The Years Sail By
My college roommate, Guy. Some rare friends pay you a visit and you pick up where you left off after all those years, all those miles, all those gains and losses, and so much, as they say, water under the bridge; each a witness and player in the separate arc of the other's life, spanning from the youth of adulthood to here and now, smiling as the years sail by ~
This Time with Feeling
It was, for a moment, amazing. 20. In love. In Europe. So young in the ruins of history the traditions of life, with no thoughts of tomorrow which now, 40 years later is today. New friends ask, how long??? No way. It's true what they say . . . like the blink of an eye. I blink now, as you sleep downstairs, if only for perspective. Two children grown and soaring, a houseboat, two cats, a night heron who greets us at the gate . . . last night I said I loved you and meant it as I always do and you returned those words, that feeling and I felt it, holding hands as we still do on this short walk, in this tiny capsule of time that is ours, this long moment we share together, so amazing.
Falling Through The Cracks
Who are the tiny dancers afloat in this strange grain?
