On the edge of a beach
Life update
I woke up in a grassy paddock, on the edge of a beach. The nearest town has a name that I cannot remember. I’m in a backwater campground. The caretaker lives in an old Bedford truck. There are iron beams growing from the bonnet to a bedroom above. It’s a house on wheels with a sign hanging from her backdoor, “boss witch lives here.”
We pay for our stay in coins. I give the caretaker fourteen golden disks that I’ve been keeping in a Ziplock bag. I’ve been carrying them for months. This buys us safe passage to dream tonight. There is value in the promise of a silent sleeping space and no city lights. This is camping.
I am writing in the early morning light. This is after a cup of tea and a swim in the ocean. Despite the serenity of capital N, Nature, my thoughts run backwards to my busy life. My life in the city. My life with a desk.
I am thinking about the nooks, edges, shelves and drawers. The spaces where sediment loves to settle. The things that no longer physically exist but I carry with me, always. These are the places I keep memories. I have manuscripts, short stories, half written character studies, blog ideas, articles and titbits with wiggle room to grow.
I am in a process of figuring out priorities. What do I finish and what do I burn?
