I hate it when I don’t write. My thoughts become confused, as they are constipated in my head, and then, I can’t write, and every time I sit down to relieve my mind, nothing but brain farts come out.
It’s a gorgeous day in the San Francisco Bay Area. The water is calm and smooth, and the sky clear and blue with anemic, thin wispy clouds that are sure to burn off before noon. It was unseasonably warm yesterday, and today promises to be the same. The current prediction is a temperature of 90 degrees in San Francisco. I dressed light, but probably not light enough.
I woke up sluggish today. My intention to take the dog for a walk fell victim to the snooze alarm, I left the house with wet hair and without brushed teeth and I barely made the ferry. Once on board and settled into a seat, I grabbed my ditty bag and headed to the head to take care of those details. It was on my way back to my seat that I finally had a chance to see what kind of day it was. The water was glassy, the wind light. I couldn’t help myself as I stepped out onto the deck and leaned over the rail to let the breeze hit my face. I suddenly understood what dogs get out of it.
And as much as I want to empty my mind, I want to go back to that rail and feel more of that breeze. It's an incredible sensation that will surely free my mind far more than these forced words. So, off I go...