Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Case of the Missing
She came to hate it, but buckled down into her own view, however curving, real, or narrow the canyon--the view quickly melted into all that other water. The matter of Zelda Fitzgerald was a lot to think about.
Oh cityscape, oh underwater writing, passage complicated, still. Another time-chance, a wave, its colors: clear. Looking required more. I had a chance to look--I took it. Looking gave me something else, it gave me a forward mind, placed right in the now. Didn't this hit me, next to now as then? Past photographs do not tell the story quite so flatly. I wish to see a reflex there.
I had been dismissed from a few cases in the recent past. My mojo had disappeared, and I thought it was altogether strange that what I had presumed to be a staple of my personality--acute perception--had become strange to me and no longer accessible. Instead, I began to notice only surface features without inferring what lurked in the depths.
It might have been a result of swimming in the shallows, the protected coves and tide pools, instead of venturing out into the open sea where no emergency would be a small one. Even my analysis only went this far.
Yesterday: my swim at a popular site on top of fresh, sweet springs that bubble into the sandy pockets of tide pools/small bays. A juvenile turtle looked at me. She was probably my age.