To Stand Still

The morning was foggy, I pulled my bicycle through the gate and worried about my light clothing. The hill tops of the South Island lay in the clouds, but down by the docks, all was still. We boarded the boat single-file, crossed our fingers for brighter forecasts, and left the Stockholm harbor behind.

The boat was full of giddy schoolchildren and tourists. We zig-zagged between little islands, their signals asking for a pickup, and as we slowed to our stop, the clouds lifted and let the sun shine on the lilac bushes and old wooden houses, glitter in the waters. 

Summer has arrived, after all. Despite my dark nights and deep sleeps, despite despair and drunken songs, it barrages through my defenses and attempts at escape, it carries on regardless and shines its sun until I cannot ignore it. Such is its magic, I surrender. 

An old train rolls through the June countryside. It smells of fifty years of travel and shakes in the turns. The rails are lined with lupines, someone opened a  window. When I was a child I would stick my head out, even though a severe sign said not to. It numbed the cheeks and turned the hair to dreads, but it was as close to freedom as I'd ever gotten. 25 years later, I've grown addicted to the feeling. 

She ain't going nowhere,

She's just leaving,

And if I knew how to stop

I'd like to think I would.