The sorts of things

It's remarkable what can happen when you let go.

Allowing for strangers to be themselves without controlling the outcome and not trying to showcase. Not judging or taking offense to someone who you will most likely never understand. Instead, creating unexpected communication that wouldn't have otherwise taken place behind a shield of shy-eyed safety.

And most likely you'll learn something about the world, have a fable opened to you (Hugin and Munin), see a fresh tattoo, witness an ass be genuine, believe a compliment, watch a tall man smoke and love his small life, and see strangers kiss just for the sake of it. And in a way you'll likely become something you weren't before.

A lesson to me: stay planted and see out a situation that at first glance looks terribly uncomfortable.

Rest in peace dearest Munners

A cat left me this week. Or rather, a cat left everyone this week.

Although she didn't like water, I think she would have been very happy floating away on one of these barges.

She would have stretched out long and twisted against the hot metal and tucked her little chin away under a paw; legs one direction and nose the other. She made awkward look sophisticated.

She would yawn endlessly and purr along with the motor. She would glance with disinterest at the Islands passing. She would lick her tousled fur back to place like a lady. She would be peaceful with the open water unfolding around her vessel.

And she would be warm. She would always, always be warm from this day forward and forever.

This photo is for Honey.

boats

On doing something small and special for no one else

Offices and commuting have always gone against my grain. To make my present commute feel less like bringing me to a place I'd rather not be and more like a moment I've chosen, I began taking the long way to work through Stanley Park.

I drive the winding road through forest with the sea to my right. I pass Siwash Rock and then the Hollow Tree. I drive around the cascade of branches that litter the narrow road.

And then about a month ago I started stopping every morning at third beach. I get out of the car and walk to the edge of a short cliff. I breathe sea. I watch weather. I see how the ships are placed differently than the day before. It takes only a minute.

And then I began taking photos of these mornings.

Morning worms

With the rain, the sidewalk on the south side of the street is teeming with worms. Rooster and I tiptoe around them. The little one barrels through, his small paws barely making an imprint on their wet bodies. His nose is stuck to the grass and mine to the air. The flowers are coming.