Nightglow Window

The ocean breathes salty, won't you carry it in?
In your head, in your mouth, in your soul.
And maybe we'll get lucky and we'll both grow old.
Well I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I hope so.


Sand between my toes and my head on the beachtowel, eyes closed, and I can hear the giggles of the girls. A KFC dinner down at Tamarack Beach as the sun casts god light through the clouds. The ocean breathes salty, and I can taste it. A welcome home kiss from the sea I love.

It was a smooth dive back into the world that I know, from the shallow end all the way to deep water. That's okay, I feel ready for a swim.

Now, down on the beach, I’m feeling the jet lag, gravity’s pull, entropy’s embrace, as Sydney and Hannah play in the shorebreak, squealing with joy.

Work was good, but slow. Wading through my e-mail and voice mail, I’m happy to see that no near disasters have occurred. The asteroid missed the earth after all, and the magazine shipped. Even Leah seems relaxed. Josh, all scruff beard, is happy with the Channel Islands/Burton news bit, his first major international scoop. Nicole seems busy with a project, but says last week went fine.

Even James stops in from Tustin and we check blueline and talk strategy for the coming issues of BBN.

Jardine has gone to Element (I need to call her), and April broke her hand surfing and is in a cast (No lunch time bike rides for her, I guess) and Tony tells me that my deleted e-mails are gone for good and forever (oh well), but all else seems steady at work.

It’s not the real world, it’s transworld.

But come 5:20 p.m., I was ready to head home and then to the beach.

The sand is still warm, so is the water, and I have to cajole to get the girls out of the surf. Good news, that.

It bodes well for the future.

The ocean breathes salty, won't you carry it in?
In your head, in your mouth, in your soul.
The more we move ahead the more we're stuck in rewind.
Well I don't mind. I don't mind. How the hell could I mind?