Walking North

I walked north toward the ocean.

Past corner stores, parks, and laundromats. Up the final hill between me and that sweet salty breeze, where the apartments give way to fancy old houses. I paused on my way down.

Looking out over the harbor—past the islands dotting the shoreline, past the scurrying little boats and the piers and masts and buoys—out there where misty sky meets grey water, suddenly naked and bare behind the hill, sat beauty.

So I faced a choice…

To continue down to the wharves, to enter the seaside hustle and bustle, to exchange this quiet panorama for a tangible fishy experience.

Or, to hang a right, hugging the face of the hill, strolling quietly along a dirt path between trees and shrubs, above the fray. To preserve the view.

Yesterday, I might have continued onward down the hill. Happy momentarily to digest the scene yet still hungry for more. Constantly seeking closer examination, blindly hoping for better.

Today, however, I was at peace. After a moment’s consideration, I turned east, deliberately stepping off the road. I gave thanks for the view; it was enough.

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