February 22, 2016
As per usual, I find myself awake in the hollow darkness of night. But this time I’m not startled from a dream but from the zip of ripstop sliding over Cordura.
Someone’s stealing the surfboards!
I slip out of bed naked and drop down into a crouch on the floor of the van.
I want to catch the thief.
But looking out the window, I find no one sneaking about. Except for myself.
The whip of sound I hear is the blow of a whale in the lagoon. One of many. Mothers and calves. Readying themselves for the long journey north.
Danielle draws a long and sleepy breath.
What time is it?
One oh seven.
She alights from bed to pee. This full moon night which means full wind. Full fury. Full passion. We travel, fight, make up and fuck. She – fiercely independent and me – shouldering the habits and reflexes that come with doing things for myself for so many years.
We make concessions where we can and expand our love with moonlit walks above the ocean and over vast desert expanses. We revel in playing the hero for the other but are careful to leave space for the other’s heroics as well. To see each other into our greater selves.
And the mothers and calves blow in the lagoon. Puffs of mist. A breath. An exchange. And the wind carries these breaths away summoned by the moon. The same wind that flaps the tent of the camper van.
And Danielle, back between the sheets, breaths a deep sigh. The moon, penetrating the screen illuminates her face.
Making her skin glow.