The First of The First

It seems significant


Not in the dramatic, back of my hand to my forehead, eyes rolling up to the clouds

A breathless, “ohhhhh, I can’t” escaping through my parted lips


but not that

not that drama

not that floating above the earth


Significant somehow

In the grounding

the grounding of my heart

the grounding of my feet in the hot summer sand

the grounding of the rush of Pacific salt water that cools my purple painted toes

the grounding of my not as tight as it used to be belly

the soft curve of my hips draped in my Egyptian Blue cotton pareo, the one I bought on our honeymoon in Fiji

my strong well used calves

my dark tinted grey hairs glistening under the semi-permanent color, they catch the light of the sun in the breeze

the lines in my face when I smile, the stories sketched on my skin

the grounding, the accepting, the moment is significant


walking from one side to another

Stepping over a line, imaginary and considerable

into a window, a door, a passage way

a feeling in my heart that is 20 or 30 or 18 or 40

a contemplation

a knowing–it is all relative

To my neighbor who is 65 and her husband who is 73

I am young

We are young

We leave their house after a nice dinner on a warm Saturday night

we walk across the street, barefoot, arm in arm

we are laughing

food and wine, history and stories fill our bellies

They watch us go, they turn to each other and smile,

“They are so fun, but they are so YOUNG” they laugh


To my neighbor three doors down starting a life with a new born and another on the way

With no children

With a husband, two cats, a working sailboat, an open calendar, a career, my writing, creativity, the freedom to come and go and a blue sky and experience, I am what…

Who am I as I turn this corner?


That is my question to answer, to understand and explore, as I,

with pen in hand

turn this corner

start down this slice

of road