Get up. Walk to the window. See the ocean? Coming in, and out, as any other day, her reliable love of the shore there in the dawn light. Look closely. Everything is the exact same as the day before. Watch how the Garry Oaks sway like old men with nowhere to go, knowing their place in the world, their hard-earned roots of growth. Stop. Listen. Hear the far-off chatter of children, rising before their parents, their hair tousled and their pajamas still on, whispering to their toys as they wait for their house life to begin.
Everything appears exactly the same.
And yet my place in it is no longer the same. In the night, I’ve pushed out my boat, waited for wind, believing only in a map of stars, and words saying trust and love and forever–my only rigging for the journey. Above, Sirius there on the horizon, piercing the liquid night with enough light to guide me.
The wind came. I am on my way.