Though seemingly beyond the divergent point of destiny, it was actually 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 that turquoise pool lay the discarded remnants of a sunken vessel, mired in the silt of mold cast off, submerged for now, and little known. It’s possible this blog emerged at some point as an idea from that same place. Subtle little blips and bloggy thoughts in the mélange of the opaque. Sometimes an awareness of real physical change is imperceptible from one moment to the next. And a blog could alter this, a kind of virtual testing ground of perception.

Still, some things never change it seems, maybe some things are already there. Like the old faded woodpile that once dreamed of becoming a boat, saturating in the big dreams of little people that congeal at dusk and flow out into the pile through the cracks in the window. That pile enjoyed the bounty of that dream, maybe it was enough. But that was the boat that never was, then another half-rotten came and was gone again, only a digital ghost remains. The first was impossibly real, the second was also real though just a placeholder, because the real vessel was already sailing on glassy waters in the Micronesia of my mind. And it wasn’t actually me calm and gliding along, but rather this story, told to me, woven from the green grass found on the other side of the hill. The slow bubbling of an alternate future can erode a foundation built on sensible logic. Like when the ancestral dolphin decided to start living life in the sea, again. It was a long time coming…