I took a drive to the island. With more willingness than I thought possible of myself, I approached an unsafe area opting to stop and park. Not the best area to be alone in, yet I walked. Fear didn’t fill me. Strange. I’ve always been scared. I took pictures of brokenness everywhere. Randomly. I left. I drove away feeling slightly amused that nothing dangerous had happened. Silly girl, usually afraid of her own shadow.
The ferry took me over to the peninsula, and not many people were headed there so late in the day. My white Charger parked in the middle row, as if allowing the other cars on board to hug her tightly. I climbed the stairs, stood outside, and allowed the wind to blow through my hair. Where did I think I was going? I smelled the salty air. I closed my eyes. I was in pursuit. Not of myself, really, but of myself, truly.
I drove the main road for miles, listened to John Legend’s You And I on repeat, then I abruptly decided to stop the car. I placed my flip-flops on the hood and proceeded to wonder while walking the beach, I read the waves and settled my brain.
Seashells show the journey long
Get me out of here
(I completely understand that the pronoun ‘I’ isn’t normally used in the Haibun prose, but I couldn’t keep from using it. Hope it doesn’t ruin the effort.) Critics are welcome! Please…