Last Saturday evening: a seaside bungalow, a good and lovingly made dinner, a gift of a ring with a white mother of pearl heart.
A walk to the water, a hula hoop, a can of fuel hidden in a kitty litter bucket, yellow police tape, major crime scene unit, a suspicious death.
A dark abandoned beach, stars, barefeet, and fire where waves, sand and wind meet.
An audience of dear and rarely seen friends: Grace Lin, Anna Alter, and Libby Koponen. I spin and it's different, a connection happens that hasn't before. Maybe even the "affinity which links and draws together the elements of the world."
I attribute it to the fire retreat I've just had, the sea, and the love and enthusiasm of the people who watched.