Meanwhile …
I had set my alarm to wake me earlier than normal, earlier than I normally get up for work, earlier than I choose to get up on days when I don’t have to go to work, and then I sleep a little longer despite the annoying music and the annoying chatter, and when I finally get out of bed and stumble into the shower, I’m already running a little late and I know that I’ll need to speed a few extra miles per hour to get to work for shift change.
In my kitchen, the green digits shine from the clock on my stove. I am, I notice with a quick glance, already ten minutes late when I open the door to throw my gear into the back of my truck. When I walk into the cold air of the not-so-early morning, the sky is lighter than it has been for the past few months, and just over over the hill, tucked between two houses, the full moon is lowering itself into the horizon and it looks like I could simply drive over the hill, down to the waterfront, and run toward the pier and jump as high and far as I could until I landed gently on the moon.
It is unusual to see the moon in Seattle during the winter. When the full moon was rising, over the mountains, up into the sky, I was asleep, in bed early enough so I could get enough sleep before returning to work.
I stand there, maybe for 30 seconds or maybe just 15, and I watch the moon lingering in the sky and smile hugely. I want to stand there longer, much longer but I have to go, so I sit in my car for another minute, wait for it to warm up, stare at the moon. I think to myself that I should take a photo, because it’s so rare for me to see a full moon set in Seattle, when the sky is light and a dark shade of blue, but I don’t want to be late for work, even though I have a new camera that I want to try, but I refrain.
Drive down the road, down the hill, and the picture becomes more incredible. Drive through the tunnel, over the bridge, look out to where the sun is rising, look into my side mirror and see the moon hanging there, delicious in the not-so-early-morning sky. Pass through mountains capped with snow, beautiful photos that will surely fade from my always-forgetting mind.
Meanwhile, up in the mountains …
A little boy, just seven years old, goes sledding with his family. only he can’t stop the sled and is thrown onto a busy road, hit by a car and killed.
A elderly man slips on the ice, hits his head on just the right thing in just the right place and ends up with a life-threatening head injury that has probably already ended his life.
Meanwhile, down in the city ..
His cancer is back, stronger now than before. His liver isn’t holding up well, the oxygen carrying cells in his body are disappearing and he is, overall, feeling unwell.
Driving home, the mountain peaks dusted with snow, the sky blue. I’m exhausted. Too exhausted to stop, too exhausted to care about the taking a photo of the blue sky, the snow-capped peaks, the beauty of rock walls. Then I see an exit, pull over, stare easily at the mountain peak, smile, grin.
Click.
In the early morning, when the sun has failed to burn off the morning Seattle haze, I fire up my Ducati and think about which direction I want to point my wheels as I pull back on the throttle, rev the engine a little high (and a little higher still) and wait for that tingling feeling to diminish—the one I get whenever I feel my bike rumble and vibrate when I first set out for a ride.

Someone once told me that I was their future because whenever they looked out into their world they saw my name and surely this was a sign that we should be together. For the record I don’t believe in signs. I believe we become aware of things—like people and movies and books and cars and authors and music—and then we start to see them everywhere and we start to think it has meaning. I think that we find meaning in the sign, like we find meaning in the happening when people say that things happen for a reason.
Back home, then gone, then home, then gone. Home now, for a few hours, then gone again. Summer does this to me, kicks me outside and I get lost in the wonder of everything that’s out there to explore, especially now that everything is accessible with the melting of snow and the opening of highways that are usually closed during the winter.
Years ago when I was in San Francisco, I watched an older man stroll through the rocks down by the wharf. He stopped near me and began to build a tower of rocks, each one carefully balanced on the one beneath it. After awhile, maybe ten minutes or so, a crowd of people were standing around watching him. He said nothing to no one and after he placed the smallest rock on top he walked away without looking back. Today I tried to do the same at a beach along the coast of Oregon.
There is a sand hill just outside Pelican Brewery in Oregon that people climb all day long. It is not for the weary, judging by the number of people I see begin the climb then stop and sit in the sand and savor the view toward the south. Anyone strong enough to climb to the top is rewarded with views in every direction despite the fiery wind that leaves me chewing on sand.
In the morning, when I wake with a slight hangover, I think about how I can merge the Everything of Today within the Confines of Today. I have to re-certify for one of my jobs, and I have to stop at a bookstore to buy something for a friend, and I have to meet up with another friend at the pub for drinks and hugs and goodbyes, and I need to spend some time by myself whether I’m in sitting in a cafe or riding my scooter or lying in bed in silence.