Endless

I'm inside a cloud this morning: mist moves around me, thick enough to feel the pull of gravity. I'm infatuated with the miracle of wool as I watch the water bead into tiny droplets upon the strands of my shirt and stay there, leagues away from my skin. Despite the absence of sun and the cold rising off Richardson Bay, I'm warm.

I've been riding my bike through the salt marshes these mornings. Eight lanes of highway scream by, but the colors of the plants are louder: purple sea lavender, ancient rusty dock, glaring green sedges, and yellow fennel pollen that puts the cyclists' reflective gear to shame. The calls of tiny birds darting among the rushes and grasses pull my attention away from the whirring of my own wheels....and I'm out in the stand of water, peering through the surface with the eyes of the egret, spying on fish and frog, waiting for the precise moment to strike. I glance left, and watch a flock of gulls rest calmly like ducks on a pond. The light in the air takes up residence in their bright white head feathers, and suddenly they're angelic, heart-stopping and awesome. I brake, put my feet on the ground, and brush the tears from my eyes. When I regain focus, I notice a golden spot hovering inches from my face. It's a spider, walking on air, following the line of her own silk to no known end. I trace her thread back to the fennel stalk, 6 feet away from us. She's made it this far from anything solid, and still moves gracefully and intentionally forward, into nothing.

To my right, cars, trucks, SUVs and Hummers speed southward towards the alabaster city of San Francisco, northward into the mountains. There is no juxtaposition.