The story goes that a young newspaper reporter found a job at a small paper on the coast in the East.
He stood, on his first morning at work, staring out the window at the town harbor. There were clouds in the distance and one lonely scruffy freighter at anchor.
The seasoned and weathered Editor asked the young reporter,
"What do you see out there?"
"I see a rickety freighter and gray clouds...nothing."
The editor chuckled and said,
"I see a huge storm threatening coastal shipping and a innocent town in peril"
"But what if it doesn't happen?" said the cub reporter.
"Then the headline will read 't
Town spared from catastrophic storm, shipping returns to normal'".

Sometimes our minds act like the crusty old Editor making hysterical statements, conjuring drama or impending catastrophe. It creates fear that slows us down or stops us from getting on with our life or realizing our dreams.
I'd like to keep my mind fresh like a cub reporter.

Carpe Diem !

Ariel sings
(The Tempest) by The Bard

"Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade;
But doth suffer a sea-change.
Into something rich and strange..."

My Parents were remanded to sea at their passing; The Pacific.
It is there at the Pacific Ocean that I talk with them. And, in my own way, hear them in my heart.

When I flew from Tokyo to Seattle I would look out of the jet at the Big Blue and feel the presence of my parents below me.
Reassuring.

On the city bus the guy in the electric wheel chair is belted in. He is squared away. Water bottle in the pocket of a well thought out pack. Middle aged and a Vet. Just an observation.
At the next stop a bum or as local police call them,"urban camper" staggered on. He reeked of urine, booze and nicotine. His filthy bag struck the wheelchair pilot.

The pilot looks hard at the guy, and then looks across the bus at me.

"You won't find a politician on the bus unless the bus is sanitized, filled with media and it's time for re-erection."

Yeah, that's what he said. Not angry; just matter-of-fact and straightup.

I guess the whole thing left me speechless.
It seems like the people that beat the drum for everyone to use public transport are the ones who wouldn't be caught dead using it, much less care about those who have no other choice but to use it.

In other news; Weather is good today and looks like another outstanding weekend.
CIAO

So many years ago.
Climbing the pristine granite walls of Yosemite Valley in California. Chilly evenings and damp mornings. Embracing the smooth rock walls carved by glaciers a millennium ago.
On those rock walls one can find the Fear Witch.

Now, old enough to not want to look at myself in the mirror in the morning, I found the Fear Witch again.
Bouldering. Climbing fifteen to thirty foot high boulders. No ropes just sticky rubbery shoes that cling to the rock. Only attention, technique and some resin on the hands to make the climbs.
I found a good practice rock for an "old timer".
A twenty foot vertical crack in a granite boulder.
I began climbing up the crack.
Seemed to be going well, I thought.
I got to, what we lyrically call, a "problem". In the vertical crack I found no foot holds. I could feel my strength waning. I moved my hand over the flawless granite desperately looking for a hand hold. I wasn't finding any.
That was when the Fear Witch flew down and dug it's claws in my back.
Panic hit and I was trembling. My mind raced. The Fear Witch whispered in my ear.
"Your gonna fall" "Your spent! and you can't hold on!" "You
can't go anywhere! and no one will rescue you!"
"Your a fool!"
And so on.
My heart raced and I felt weak. My legs and arms vibrated with fatigue.
Then I remembered.
The Fear Witch had pulled this trick on me before in Utah, in Yosemite and other places.
Almost out loud, I thought, "Thanks for the adrenaline rush, Fear Witch!"
I switched from the face of the crack, wedged my foot into the crack, grabbed a knob over head, and made the final moves to the top.
On top I was laughing. (and shaking)

About sixty feet away my son and his wife were working a problem on the face of a boulder.
He called out to me "Great pitch, What's so funny?"
I called back. "The Fear Witch got on me near the top"
He started laughing. The Fear Witch had visited his wife and him.
We all laughed at the Fear Witch.

In a bird book they are called Canadian Geese.
In Goose language, who knows. The large graceful birds fly over the imaginary lines and borders of people. They don't have to prove who they are, aren't subject to search, and forgotten luggage.
These airborne travelers ride the cool morning breeze, get lift from the warm afternoon thermals, and glide in on to fields in the evening twilight.

They are simply a beautiful truth of life.
A living truth of which there are many.