the morning wind forever blows

This morning the wind and postman brought me a letter from across the big pond -- enclosed was a small gift from jen and her hope that I might be "watching the waters off that Grand Old Isle."

I took her advice and headed out to the bay, and found a seat on the rocks at the end of the pier. The wind blasted my face while I sat, drawing tears from my eyes, and I was afraid that the dog-walkers would misread my exhiliration for sorrow.

Swans, pidgeons, ducks, and the heron that flies around the city and teaches me lessons entertained me as the wind slapped the waves up against the rocks. The pidgeons are anxious and flutter here and there, surprised by something I can't see. The seagulls love the wind, and I am sure they are at play and enjoying it thoroughly. The ducks slice straight through the wind rather than catching the gusts. The swans rarely fly, but when they do, their necks are stretched out and their wings enormous -- they look like white warplanes in my tear-blurred eyes. The heron squaks once to get my attention. I wouldn't have noticed him had he not. He strikes off into the distance, and I almost wonder if I should follow him -- if it's another message.

I am bulletproof this evening, just off work with a caffeine drive. Now the i-net cafe is closing and I am off into the night.