A Ramble

Many times in the past couple of weeks I have sat here trying to put something in writing. Each time I lost my way. If this were paper I would have a trashcan full of crumpled pages. Tonight is a ramble night. I'm gonna ramble.


Leaving a friend's at night I often am drawn into reverie of one kind or the other. The apartment buildings, full of families going about their business, and the streetlights casting shadows on the pavement draw me towards a place of melancholy. The moon shows herself as I pull out of the parking lot. It hangs a little over the skyline. If there has been rain the sounds of hundreds of small frogs hidden in the marshy woods behind the apartments combine in a rhythmic, loud, incessant croaking. I am tempted to chunk a rock over into the nearby woods. I know the sounds will go silent the moment the rock lands. Time will pass. At some point a brave few will begin their croaking again. Within seconds of the clarion call the cacophony of croaking will return.


 I once spent an entire night beside a beautiful shoreline south of St. Pete, Florida on an island of great beauty and solitude. We had no tent and had packed very little for the week-end. My daughter was two years old and sleeping in the car. The night seemed quiet and calm.  Gentle waves slapped up onto the shore. As they pulled back into the bay I heard a delightful tinkling. As they came in from the  bay I heard a delightful tinkling.


The evening began to lose it's charm. Where was the anticipated breeze blowing in from the bay? I was exhausted. The  air was warm and humid. Mosquitoes flew in targeting my sleeping daughter. I fought a battle with them for most of the night. The tinkling sound created by small waves as they hit the shoreline began to annoy me.The predictability of wave in, wave out annoyed me. I began waiting for the waves, listening for the tinkling, obsessively marking the time between the coming in and going out. What could be tinkling with every wave for an entire night? At long last the sun came up shining on the blue water of the bay, palm trees lined the shore, the mosquitoes disappeared and a soft breeze began to blow. The gentle waves and tinkling continued. I walked towards the water, looked down and saw the source of the tinkling. There were hundreds of cochina on the sandy shoreline. They were alive, tiny, pushed up and out of the sand when the waves flowed in and covered with the sand as the waves pulled away. They tumbled over each other sending out a light tinkling sound with each wave.


Morning revealed a breathtaking world. Warm bay water, shallow for a long way out, gentle waves and a welcoming sun drew my daughter and I into the water where we remained for several hours. The torturous evening was forgotten. At that time in my life and in my daughter's life we lived in bikinis, our tans became deep, her hair faded from blonde to white. For a moment, a precious moment, life was sweet. The restless, self-destructive part of me held back allowing a reprieve before the coming storm.


Tinkle! Tinkle! Tinkle!