There is a bay I know, a little north of here and somewhere south of Alaska. A cool green basin where kelp rises up in gleaming strands from depths like tinted glass and where the shore wraps silence inside a tapestry of deep-etched sandstone and guardian trees. The dock there is old, silver and black wood, the timbers worn and smooth by ( Read more... )

"Have a bite ( Read more... )

No one remembers our social gaffs like ourselves. To anyone else, they flake away with that very night's sleep, gone in that nightly shuffle of short-term into long-term memory. But we paint them bright on that day's page in our own ledgers like an illuminated first letter, and everything else we could remember about that day, be it party, work, or ( Read more... )

He was still warm. Clara sat still, so still, holding his hand. The machines were quiet beside her, their presence unwelcome and somehow still intrusive, the slow flicker of an orange stand-by light as garish in the corner of her eye as a police-car's lights. His skin felt... ordinary. Everyday. She wasn't sure what she had expected, before she'd ( Read more... )

One possible introduction for shanns_ljidolShann is one of those people who you meet on a bus, when the hour is so late and the road has been so long that you aren't entirely sure you're awake. Conversation passes with the same effortless slipping as the yellow stripes in the road, topics like the peaks and swoops of power lines and laughter like the headlights ( Read more... )

Because I need more things to procrastinate writing, I'm joining LJI:XB!

Edit to add: A few recent gaps in this journal are filled in at http://i-id.dreamwidth.org/

( Read more... )

I don't plan to disappear.

I have a life, here on solid land. Well, mostly on the internet. A pretty solid social life, good relationships with a few tight friends and a few dozen amicable aquaintences. The people I interact with every day.

(Though I wonder, because we all do, how long it would take them to notice if I stopped turning up. A few days ( Read more... )

[This entry is nonfiction, but not an accounting of a true event. It is a mashup of the conversations I’ve had with various people since I began declaring my intent to sail around the world.]

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( I'm going alone. )

The day the hummingbird attacked us on the island, I had been whistling. I was thirteen, with long skinny legs and cut-off shorts, harper-blue leather hiking boots, and a tie-dye t-shirt, and I was hiking along a narrow sandstone bluff whistling the finale from the Firebird Suite. My dad, puffing behind me, kept laughing, and every time I turned ( Read more... )