Note: I’ve struggled with the words of late.And was frustrated by my last post. Both in writing it, and the need to write it. But a particular circumstance called for it. And so this one is a little out of date.

The smell of fields and oak trees. And it is only then that you are sure that you made the right decision. Because it floods your senses like the memory of drinking on some hillside on some summer night. Racing wildly down in the dark. Knowing that somebody could get hurt. And of course someone did. But by then you were at the bottom.

And the memory fades to another hillside. On a silent night. Some tangle of rocks. Hidden amongst the stars. The police below scanned impatiently with their spotlights. But you tried to enjoy the night. Though you could almost hear their radios. Some classic picture of American freedom. Though I’m not sure that I thought that then.

Because one room faced east. And one room faced west. Some truth about my nomadic nature. But maybe not the only truth. And I struggle to bury it away again. But with every return to Vacaville, it comes back again.

And then I am back in San Diego. My eyes are shifting back and forth. Following some conversation. And again following my memories. Only they don’t feel like mine anymore. Some other mystery of getting older. And this girl wonders what I am thinking. Five faces stop and turn to face mine. Because they can see on my face a story.

But it’s not a story I care to share. And so I silently curse my transparency. And it is awkward because she thinks that she has made me feel awkward. Because we have only just met. But I don’t feel awkward. But then I do feel awkward because she feels awkward. So maybe next time. Because I suspect there will be a next time.

Because the girl with the compass tattoo returned. In a different form and a different place. With a shorter skirt and striped socks and fewer words. She had seen more of the sun. But this time there was no imperfection. And I found myself remembering when there was. Because I think I liked her better that way. Though with her, I don’t supect there will be a next time. Because she is free. And comes and goes as she pleases.

Then a random memory that perhaps is not so random. Because in the summer, it stays lighter the further you go up the coast. And it’s another memory that I like.

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