Getting out the door can be the hard part.
The door, in my case, being my own neighborhood- a vicinity I'm not sure I've yet perforated.
I spent two days on a gulf island, playing disk golf and mucking around in the rain. The plan was to cross back into Sidney to take the ferry to Anacortes- camp in a park there, etc.
I realized, after hanging around the decrepit and abandoned terminal long enough, that the ferry wasn't running. Only runs seasonally i discovered.
About turn.
I grew up in this town, watching the ferry come and go (forming a fantasy that someday I'd escape on it). Instead I found myself mucking through a flooded trail as I took a detour on the way to Schwartz bay again. Everything was screaming abandonment before I even left the blindly familiar.
Like a bad dream where i can't get out.
A part of me wants to wake up in my bed with the revived ability to choose to leave and then not choose to.
Such is the nature of some dreamers.
And I am something of one.
But I made the ferry and escaped my shire.
I've been spinning the tires. Time to pop the clutch.
No comments:
Post a Comment