I ate my breakfast too quickly this morning. It impaired the tranquility of my bicycle ride. The wind was powerful from the east, the sun shone like oven heat upon my face. I was distracted by the urgency, not yet focused. Who are these people passing by? Do they live nearby? Have they just arrived on the island full of excitement and energy and purpose? I’m starting to blend in with the wallpaper.

Nor was there time to linger on the bench overlooking Sarasota Bay. Matters were pressing like the waves from the east, rolling and collapsing, one upon another, forward towards me. How do I state the details that remain from what I’ve done? Was the education and the practice but a whiff? Can I capture a summary that is more than a thread, to weave a pattern to create an image of my past? Or like the waves will it roll one into the other, uncertain which began or ended?

Into the wind to return home. I hear a runner approach from behind, feet smacking the sidewalk, then he passes. “Hey! You’re showing off!“, I yell. He looks back, smiling and says, “You’re making me look good!” He continues and gains upon me progressively. I never catch up with him before he turns into a residential area and I later see him walking along the secluded road looking justifiably drained and decidedly athletic.

At last I make it to the pool…where the chaises longues are empty and the sun is blazing. A stubborn pelican waddles to the edge of the pier to eye the fish in the slip below. Then two of them dive in unison like jets into the water, surfacing as though recovering from an accident and gulp their catch. The clouds overtake the ceiling but I feel the rays. I am going to remain by the pool until at least 3:00 pm before my first of several mugs of chilled French roast. A swim, diving underwater, stretching my arms to extend the contorted ribs – the post scriptum of my fall on the beach three years. They told me, “At your age it will take time“.