The Cave of the Swallows

Wild, wild waters splashing by the cave. My dog quickly finds out there’s a difference between water and sea water. I haven’t eaten a thing, save for a couple of garlic, plantain chips. I engage in a sort of spiritual journey while fasting.

A couple close by continue snapping pictures of each other. A swallow flies by, out and then back into the cave. The waves make a ruckus, in and out.

Was the musclebound man with the arm tattoo waiting for me to go first? Were we both afraid of the waves and the rocky path next to the mountain face?

I don’t know… perhaps. His girl was good looking and I’m lucky to have a good-looking girl myself.

My leg goes through the sand. Never have I experienced this in the snow, but now I can say, I have in sand.

She gets a quesadilla, and I get a pizza. The fast is about to end.

This writing life seems like a pretty good life for now. Will that change? Will my life become the work?

One bite of her quesadilla and I know I don’t like it.

One of those hybrids emits a terrible sound close by. An artificial sound no car should make.

I’m thinking about my audience again, and how I have to center myself to run the right business for me.

But for now, say what they say, Snoring sure has some beautiful sunsets.