We circle the neighborhood, mid winter, withered leaves madcap, flying around the gutters. We hear the old ocean. Mine is just a sea journey comprising sacrifices and tears at the gangway. But Nira, a yellow Labrador hears from afar an invitation to rise up on her hind legs and dance the canine horn pipe. The leaves and black trees re-enter their stillness once we’ve passed by. And the blue ocean is steady, waiting.
Planet of the Blind 