This is my life

When the endless suburbs fade out, I salute the illusion of the wild, the green and rotten smells of the slough, the white cranes, the blue herons; and further ahead, the crashing of the waves, and my daily destination. That's where she sat every sunny day, on the deck of her double-wide, facing south. She had white hair and perhaps more memories than expectations, bundled in jackets and covers but on the warmest summer mornings. Pedaling by I saluted, and she rarely responded, dozing in the warm light of other times and places.

This past winter was a long and protracted affair, uncomfortably cold and too often subject to the caprices of errant rainclouds. But I pedaled through, almost every day. This morning a fierce breeze ripped through the veil of gray to reveal spring as a naked infant with a gratifying sunny smile. Like every other day I went by, but she was no longer there. A pile of old clothes, bedsheets, a mosaic of colors covered the deck, the door to the inside of the trailer open, for the very first time, on the darkness inside.

Just ahead a turkey vulture was perched on top of one of the light poles, its wings open wide to offer its prayer and salute the return of the sun, and cleansing itself after a satisfying meal. I imitated him, spreading my wings, letting my bicycle take me along a road it knows too well.