Though seemingly beyond the divergent point of destiny, it was in reality just all part of the process. Because there are no divergent points, and the difference between now and then is no difference. There is only now and a choice, or maybe there is only now.

Within the depths of a turquoise pool lay the discarded remnants of a sunken vessel, mired in the silt of molds cast off, submerged to my awareness for now, and little known. It’s possible this blog emerged at some point as an idea from that same place. Subtle blips and bloggy thoughts rising from the realm of the opaque. Sometimes the awareness of real physical change is imperceptible from one moment to the next. It’s possible a blog could alter this, acting as a virtual testing ground of perception.

Still, some things never change it seems, maybe some things are already there. Like the old faded woodpile that dreamed of becoming a boat, saturated in the big dreams of little people that congeal at dusk and flow out into the rotting wood through cracks in the window. For a while the old lumber enjoyed the bounty of those dreams, maybe it was enough, forever now the boat that never was. Later another half-rotten boat came along, now only its digital ghost remains. The first boat was impossibly real, the second one was also real, though just a placeholder, because the real vessel was already sailing towards glassy waters in the Micronesia of my mind. Though it wasn’t me gliding along, but rather a story intercepted, woven from a type of green grass found on the other side of the hill.