I came down to Dallas Road to storm watch. I expected it to be worse. But still it is thrilling just to hear the roar-the wind whipping the waves into a fury. The crashing. The white spray. The force of the wind on my back, pushing me.

I find a secluded spot, almost out of the wind, with the sun shining on me. The ivy along the wall crowds in around me and I snuggle into it.

I watch the seagulls float, twist, dive-and rise again. Flying just for fun. I sit here just for fun.

Sometimes it almost feels like the bench shudders as a line of waves crashes against the shore. How can it shudder? It feels so permanent. Permanent in my short memory. I have been trying to think in geologic time. I can almost grasp decades-and centuries-reading about Victoria in 1860-just one-and-a-half centuries ago. To me, that is a long time.

But this rock that I see in the water-the waves covering it-then receding. What can it tell me of time passing? Time standing still. Just there, in one place. Solid. How long has it been there? Is that why we carve our epitaphs into stone-hoping for permanence. To solidify our fleeting lives?

What should my epitaph be? “She thought her life was so important. She spent all her time planning and scheduling. Wrapped up in the details. Wrapped so tightly that it always took a while to unwrap her, so that she could peer out and see something bigger than herself. And when she peered out, she didn’t understand what she saw.”

I guess that is kind of long. I’ll have to edit it down. “She always thought her life was so important. She’s gone now.”

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