If it’s Wednesday, this must be Isleton.

I don’t actually live in Isleton; I just technically do.  It takes me about 18 minutes to get to Isleton while I can be in Rio Vista in ten.  But Rio Vista lies over the Sacramento River in Solano County, so we folks on the Loop get Isleton as our zip code.

The days pass in less than an eye blink.  A minute ago my son and I rode BART downtown to see the city at Christmas.  Spring officially began today.  In two and a half weeks, a hundred folks will tour my house; four days later, I will fly to Tucson.  Then summer will come; and on its heels, my fifth Labor Day at Pigeon Point as I turn sixty-four.

Will you still need me?

Recently someone asked me what living in a park was like.  What could I tell her?

Go drive to a park, preferably one which sits below a river levee.  Get out of your car.  Settle a pillow and blanket under a tree.  Fall asleep to the hoot of an owl and the rustle of a shy coyote in the undergrowth.  Awaken to the sound of a thousand creatures chattering in their morning voices.  Draw in a breath full of budding willow.  Walk to the marina and watch the sea lions  cavort in the sunlight as it dances over the dock.  Lift your head to watch a thousand Sandhill Cranes rise from the field to test the air for warmth.

That’s what it’s like.  Exactly that.

I’m going outside to see if I can photograph the moon.  It’s Wednesday, the first day of spring, the twentieth day of the sixty-third month of My [Never-Ending]  Year [Trying to Learn to Live] Without Complaining.  Life continues.

Taken from Brannan Island Rd., along the San Joaquin, just west of Delta Bay Marina.

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