This is my last day housesitting, so there is extra reverence in rising, coming down stairs, making coffee and sitting in a chair to look out at the bay.  I used to think a cloudy, rainy day was gray but now after being here and on the houseboat I see the intricacy in grays, the layers and interplay.  This last almost six weeks has been an adventure I didn’t expect.  It’s rained almost every day so I’ve been entertained by an elemental exchange and an awareness of the touch of light inside and out I didn’t have before.

Meanwhile a bird is chirping outside the window announcing very clearly it’s spring and it’s time to build a nest and reproduce.

I see how trees respond to a chirp of a bird.  Oh, yes, let me bring out my leaves and buds and bloom. Now there’s a symphony of birds chattering, so one bird, then, many. Worms have been aroused by the full moon so there is food and aerated soil for all.

The Wednesday morning commute has begun.  I see car lights traveling west on the bridge and the Larkspur ferry ventures out with an early load pass San Quentin and beyond. I look out on it all with awe, touched, noting how differently lives intertwine in what I’m seeing and hearing, people encapsulated, birds set free, and frogs singing in the fresh-water marsh on Ring Mountain.

And now the school bus comes to stop at the corner and pick up children ready for a new day.