full circle

Fishermen cast out their reels with red sensors attached to the end of the twine. Ahead and below is a bottomless night ocean. The red sensors beam with a stream of determination only to land like a floating buoy above water. Ahead a purple light streams from the illuminated monstrosity of the suspension bridge. It's true grandeur is diminished with the absence of daylight, but the little pegs of colored light outlining the bridge still can remind me of how small I and the fellow night fishermen are in comparison. The light from the bridge dusts the dark sea with a fuzzy blanket of color. Behind it, the island hillside is lit up with little specks of soft, yellow light like a Christmas tree. Passing ships chug along with little will, but simple goal in reaching the nearby port.

Standing here, at the edge of this dock, I once felt I had reached the end of the world. Nothing was around and everything was out of place. Again, standing in the same place, I've come full circle, but this time everything can be placed. The name of the island across the bay, the fishermen eager for their meager seafood dinner, the jogging path I chose from the first day I arrived.

Bait plinks into the ocean water with poise. Swift swishes of the thin twine whirr by my ear near enough to nip me. What is this melancholy now? Something usual, prescribed by Freud or perhaps all expatriates who feast on a sordid lot of unfamiliarity? I still feel like a stranger, but in the dark, I don't stand out as much.

It could be the transition of things--yet again. A general questioning of life and where it leads. But, instead of asking myself in a crossroad moment of confusion, "Where am I?", I'm better off asking myself, "Where haven't I been?"

So I stand alone, as solitary a soul as when I was first born, comfortable in the brazen darkness that could shroud the little lights along the bridge. Yet, instead the darkness makes them seem brighter, and each one uniquely part of the beautiful string they've created along the bridge. I've explored this coast, only to arrive where I began, and know the place anew. Still, it feels as if it's a secret--me and this ocean's edge. Fishing rods whip again like a sharp chill, but with a soft finish on an ocean mass that looks like jello mold. No one can find me here-- among these night fishermen.