He and I would talk relentlessly on our 3 or 4 hour drive. We would snack on our words as if they were treats of candy, as if the view through the windshield were a moving picture, and we were two kids who had no reason to give it our attention.
Her silence in the back seat, staring out the window was her rest for the week. It also was like a movie to her -- a visual feast, refueling for her eyes. Our noise and chatter let her know she wasn't alone. She had brought home along with her.
When we arrived in the destination town, we would go to the beach before the restaurant. Then it was my turn to find the space where I was one. I'd saunter out to the sand along the shore where the birds had been at sunrise. He and she would stay at streetside. I'd walk the sand, pushing my feet into it, feeling it give back to me.
And as I did I made tracks in the sand in between those that looked something like this ->-.
And I would think, It's okay to be a rare bird, leaving tracks in the sand.
--me strauss Letting me be