Solitary night walk at the wetlands by the SF Bay. A dozen species of invisible shorebirds singing. A couple some distance away on the path, we cannot see each other. She is singing, an untrained contralto warm with love, eros and agape both, by the richness. There are stars overhead, and lights bejeweling distant hills. I walk to the end of the levee talking to my father. He was a great traveler. He would have loved that moment.
Extraordinarily difficult to leave and return to civilization.