Point Reyes, California


It’s five a.m., but it feels like three. There’s a small fire in the heater glowing in the room, and outside the open window, geese honk with concern as Donna sleeps in the next room, possibly listening to me click away. I haven’t slept in hours, so I tried to kill time photographing the starry night, and now, here I sit. It’s quiet, dead silent, and my mind focuses on every slight sound. Even breaths seem disruptive. I’m sure the spiders on the ceiling are watching me. Should I go back to bed or wait for the sun? Is there a story here? There’s an air of deja vu. I’ve felt that a lot lately. 

The ineffable makes its appearance, an awareness without description, the moment never-ending. What can I bring to this instant that will make a difference? I feel the cup of tea warming my insides, and my night anxiety begins to fade. The old man teaches, and the young boy shows, but what are they trying to say? Love must be at the top of the list, shared with peace and a close second of appreciation and acceptance. And what was that object flying east in the sky, moving left and right like a moth in flight, followed by a sliver of a moon rising only minutes before the sun?