Direction.

Itching to get out of here – Ottawa, Oregon, anywhere – all just over the horizon and this stasis has got me down at the moment. Just 10 more days and a planeride and I’ll be east, three more weeks and a trainride and I’ll be south. Which direction will I be facing when I finally settle in myself again? The northward shift of my heart is doing me no good at the moment; perhaps west towards the islands and the sea is where I will find the release after a long winter, breaking my past out over the shore and allowing the salt water to curl my hair. Lying in the sand as the foaming current sucks the land from around me, leaving me afloat in the stars of phospheresence. Like this, caught between the dark night and the deep sea, among creatures giving their glow to predatory feasting, I am afloat in an empathic ancient ocean. As easily drowned as cradled as cocooned as lost.

A simple redirection and I would not be here at all.