Jonathan Livingston Seagull

Where the earth and sea share an endless kiss, a convergence of shadows old and young: Grace and the remains of giants.






Star Wars--the myth, the reality, the idea--has been a reoccurring theme in my life over the past month or so. Towards the end of our Thursday ladies ride dusk came with its blanket, and the dark of night skipped along closely behind, and so the last leg of the journey was spent pedaling star wars over open roads of fire. Here's how it came together: the leaves are currently enduring that inevitable change of seasons, a glorious one indeed, and so in the ambiance of a dusk molting into star-streaked night, the leaves held their shape and presence even in the swallowing blanket of night. The speed provided by composite rubber pirouetting over gravel-laden fire roads allowed for the entire peripheral, as well as the ground below, to appear as stars fleeing the woods to make their way to recently arrived night skies. At last spewed into the parking lot scattered with awaiting cars, we realized we had been among a passive war of the stars while in those sacred woods; we were Star Wars, and it was heaven.