I do not dislike being alone. Those of you who know me personally might leap to the thought that I am writing about living alone, as I do, or about having no intimate relationship, which I do not, or being so far removed from where most of my life developed in California, which I am, indeed.

            But instead I am writing from my experience of today, one of those near- perfect weather days that would fill every vacant house in Anacortes with an expectant family, were the weather today to be used as a sales tool.

            As you have read, I have lately been disciplining myself to ride my bicycle on a bike trail that starts near here (across the street actually) and ends at an oil refinery six miles away. Because I know myself well, I make this a part of my every-other daily routine and hold my feet to the fire. If I didn’t, it wouldn’t get done. These twelve miles of bike riding are healthy but I know that walking would be even better for a big guy like me. So today, at about two miles from the end of the bike path (no cars allowed) I parked my bike and locked it up and secured my helmet and started walking along the path that soon had water on both sides and shortly thereafter was on a trestle above the water. Now, I had ridden this path countless times on my bike. You know I am not one of those fucia colored Lycra clad bikers, I have a simple bike and I am not super fast. But walking the same path was a new experience.

            And yes, it was a lot more work to walk, and very shortly, given the heat of the day, perspiration was dripping from my brow. This was a new experience because the air rushing by the bike was not present to cool me off. Thankfully, when I reached the trestle, the air over the water was cooler, but even so, I sat on a bench overlooking the water to rest. It was very quiet. And I was very alone.  As I sat there, looking over the water, I realized that the tide was coming into the bay. I could tell this because I was sitting still and could see a twig floating on the incoming current. I sat quietly. If you saw me sitting this way in Marin, you’d think I was meditating. And I was, but in a different way. My mind was floating, thinking of possibilities, wishful scenarios that The Universe could push my way.

            Suddenly a tiny fish flipped out of the water with a tiny splash which seemed louder because of the stillness. In my reverie, I happened to be staring in the same direction as where the fish jumped, or I would not have seen it.

            It seemed the quieter it was, the more noticeable and the more frequent the noises. I was even deeper in my thoughts, you’ve probably felt that way before, when there was a huge SPLASH! Like someone had jumped or thrown something large in the water. But I would have been aware if there had been anyone nearby. It was so quiet I knew there had not been anyone within 200 yards in either direction. I stared at the center of the now-fading ripple ring where the splash occurred. It was quiet again. This was really puzzling. The silence continued for several long minutes. You could hear a gull cry way off in the distance. Suddenly, right where I was staring, a seal shot out of the water and did an awkward semi-flip, landing with the same SPLASH!

            He (she?) floated there like a dog, waiting for me to throw a fish to reward the behavior. All I had at hand was my Blackberry, so I took his picture. In a blip, his little head was gone, with only a tiny ripple to show he’d existed. So there was a little lesson in being alone. In all the times I’d thundered down the boards of that trestle, I’d never seen more than a dot in the distance that could have been a seal or a piece of driftwood. So as I am at home this evening, purposely, I am not playing my iPod music. I have my front and back screened doors open and am listening, as I write this to the sounds of the waves splashing on the small beach across the street, to the flapping of the American flag on top of the ferry building, and the slapping of the rope against the flag pole that stands, unused, on my own front yard. Oh what plans I had for that flagpole!