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Seabus, black looming shapes of mountains almost disappeared in driving foggy rain.
Seabus, mercury-matte waves chopping up with a path of diamond sparkles leading to the setting sun and feathering out around the boat.
Seabus, terminal, Vancouver, getting to the station at the one minute mark and running down the long ramp and the escalator and the second ramp, past the Andean music, grinning and feeling that my lungs are alive and sailing in with time to catch my breath completely before the doors close.
His Home, him crying, wrapped sideways around me in a ball like I always imagined I'd look if I let go like that.
His Home, the morning after, and he's smiling in his sleep and reaching his arm around me.
Other His Home, and he is frowning, but he gets up and pulls me over to let me finish crying against his chest.
Other His Home, later, and I'm not looking at him but there is that agreement after the storm, and then I look over and we hug each other and he has his little boy's smile again.
Point Grey Road in the rain, water falling from the sky in sharp, huge, infrequent stabs that could almost be hail and the wind is fighting me for my jacket. I have no hat or scarf, and the ocean is perfectly empty behind all the little parks that line the road, one and another and another, and all the houses have courtyards that are locked off from the sidewalk by gates, with glimpses of the sea in between. I smile at the bus driver when he comes.
Seabus, mercury-matte waves chopping up with a path of diamond sparkles leading to the setting sun and feathering out around the boat.
Seabus, terminal, Vancouver, getting to the station at the one minute mark and running down the long ramp and the escalator and the second ramp, past the Andean music, grinning and feeling that my lungs are alive and sailing in with time to catch my breath completely before the doors close.
His Home, him crying, wrapped sideways around me in a ball like I always imagined I'd look if I let go like that.
His Home, the morning after, and he's smiling in his sleep and reaching his arm around me.
Other His Home, and he is frowning, but he gets up and pulls me over to let me finish crying against his chest.
Other His Home, later, and I'm not looking at him but there is that agreement after the storm, and then I look over and we hug each other and he has his little boy's smile again.
Point Grey Road in the rain, water falling from the sky in sharp, huge, infrequent stabs that could almost be hail and the wind is fighting me for my jacket. I have no hat or scarf, and the ocean is perfectly empty behind all the little parks that line the road, one and another and another, and all the houses have courtyards that are locked off from the sidewalk by gates, with glimpses of the sea in between. I smile at the bus driver when he comes.
