Musing

When I wake, a squirrel sits in the palm tree outside. Everyone is out of place. We hiked to the top of the mountain to see the world stretch out below but all we saw were clouds and the feet before us. It’s a metaphor, we said and laughed, and it took us an hour longer to get down than up. 

The saccharine smile that hides in my western upbringing comes out again, beaming at servers and strangers, effusive in politeness and banter, I can’t take her seriously but she fits right in with the Santa Monica boulevard crowds, tossing her blond curls and nodding at the ways of the industry. Over dinner, we speak of leaving Williamsburg before it was what it’s become. I had a rent controlled apartment you know, kept it when I went out here but I had to let it go and then I never looked back. You wonder if you ever got tired of New York where you could possibly go. You don’t have to think about it, now. Take a deep breath. 

Be here now. 

You can’t see further than where your feet stand, anyway.