
A windy morning on the river. I walk the wind of the cable bridge from the Pasco side out over the water. My back to the wind, I face the east, looking out at the old railroad bridge, a vestige of the colonial invasion that started with Lewis and Clark and continues apace with housing developments springing up in the desert where I make my rounds with fast food deliveries to white folks and brown folks and gray ones in the dim light. I handed a fiver to a young man with a cardboard sign I didn't read who told me about trying to retrieve his stuff from the sheriff and not having much luck. Good luck, I said, and: I love you. I surprised myself saying that and I wonder if he, too, was surprised or shocked by my reflexive expression of some kind of kindness as I continued on my way to this sunrise so shockingly gorgeous in the wind.
See also: https://nprymuseum.org/pasco-kennewick-bridge/
"Good luck, I said, and:
I love you. I surprised myself saying that
and I wonder if he, too, was surprised"
Aw! There's never too much love in the world 💛💛💛
A feature length account of living, Jonathan.