how the otherworldly can become normal

I was shocked into a realization of my exotic life by a call from a surveyor last night. The woman calling was clearly from the Sowuth. I pictured tiny flowers on her huge blouse, and tight stretch pants.

Me... I was in the middle of frying sweet potato (putaytuh) chips. I felt an urge to tell her about my day, about how I was standing in my kitchen in a wetsuit from swimming in the ocean just a while before, and how I was headed out to my hammock with my beer in a minute to watch the sun go down. These are my everyday things.

Something about the genteel voice on the other end helped me to realize how far I've sailed from the domesticated creature I once was. And I'm glad of it. If Pele is creative and destructive, my life in her shadow reflects her power by the old me burning away and the new me forming right before my eyes.

Living on fresh rock, some of it only days old and some of it a hundred or so years old, requires new roots from a person.