A Yellow Raft on Blue Water

Biking around Deer Island feels like I'm on vacation on The Vineyard or Nantucket (although Ive never been, it's how I imagine it). Ocean breezes, peddling against the wind, sunlight on me, wind chimes in the distance- it all feels glorious. Peddling back is HARD. The wind is crazy, wind in my face, my eyes water, sand pelts my skin, pushing, pushing, pushing to make headway on my bike. I get back to Ocean Drive and there are firetrucks and ambulances. Five men run a motor boat down to the water to rescue something or someone. It feels like they take forever and I think how slow time must pass if you re in distress, awaiting help. It turns out the site they are going to is 1/2 mile away, so the boat motors over and the ambulances drive closer. I stand around, catching my breath, taking it all in, wondering what happened. The water is choppy today and there is an empty raft that may or may not have had someone on it. I think about how one minute the world can seen great and the next minute, there is terror and disaster. Its a scary thought how there is no way to know whats going to happen next, how it can all change in an instant and how little control we actually have.

Random Musings from my journal 8/05-4/06

She looked sideways at the bare-limbed tree and said "Winter is my favorite season. There's so much life in death."
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Time slips away
slides downward
falls beneath and never comes back
wrinkles around
without a sound
slips through your fingers
and wraps around your throat
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You called after a years time
and suddenly you were everywhere
in the pomegranates at the supermarket
memories of you
float through
my head
your laughter and grace
all over the place
discord and harmony
in my soy latte
everywhere
just like you were
when you left
full circle
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Although by outward appearance I'm all smooth and silky, soft and supple, I'm scared on the inside. A million marks cut deep leaving behind scar tissue, rough and hard. Some have grown old and I can no longer feel when sharp nails graze over them. Others have never seemed to heal and at the slightest touch can open and bleed again. I wont show that. Those tears that well up, they stay well beneath the surface. Sometimes they come out in other ways, seemingly benign situations call to those emotions for release.
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They are but days. Some are better than others.
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Critical Ass

I rode my bike around Deer Island before driving into the city to meet the masses for a long, slow bike ride- Critical Mass. It was my first time and it was exciting. There were somewhere in the vicinity of 200 people on bikes, peddling through the streets of Boston causing havoc, although from what I hear, it was mild in comparison to Friday's past.
I liked it, but I'm not sure how I feel about the bikers literally standing in front of cars, forcing them to stop while all 200 of us peddle by, through red lights. It shows a certain amount of disrespect to say the least. I'm all for rebellion, but I couldn't help thinking- what if one of these cars had somewhere important to be or had some sort of emergency situation they were heading towards? Isn't it rather self-centered of us to give the proverbial 'fuck you'? Not to mention it doesn't do much to make motorists want to be accommodating to cyclists- they probably see us as Critical Ass.
All of that said, I had a good time and it was amazing to see so many bikes and people peddling.