Talking, Walking & Whales

View from pali at SeaLodge. Keep looking, the whales will appear.

"I thought I had looked everywhere."

"Well it just goes to show that you didn't."

"It was packed and padded, and sealed with velcro."

"You should have gone through every pouch. Maybe you're just too lazy."

I was listening to the familiar voices when Barbara asked: "Who are you talking to?"

"Myself," I said. "I found my sunblock tucked away in my backpack."

"Oh dear," she replied.

Sheltering in place. It's crazy.

"You want to take a walk?" she said.

"Sounds good. I need to inhale some fresh air."

"The sun's out," she said.

"I know. It's hot out there, too."

I knew this because I had earlier washed the windows that look out into our lanai. I got tired of looking through accumulated dust that builds up, creates a screen that blocks our view to the beauty outside. I demand clarity when I write, or so I told myself without saying it out loud. I worked up a sweat.

"I don't want to go too far," she said. "My feet are still a little sore."

She was referring to near blistering of the bottom of her feet from walking, like, ten miles one day in sandals with bumps on the insoles. She can walk.

"Why are your eyes red?" she asked when we met up to leave for our walk. "Have you been smoking?"

"No," I said. "I was writing a poem, and it made me cry."

"What was it about?"

"About little people."

"You mean short people?"

"No, little ones like Mystiko."

She didn't say anything, but her eyebrows lifted and her eyes seemed to roll.

We walked across the Makai Golf Course staying on the cart path. It is closed now. I recalled what my neighbor Rick said:

"A good walk is a golf course closed."

We walked out to SeaLodge which sits on a bluff. The units are shingled, fishing-village style. Probably built in the 70s. The complex reminds me of Sea Ranch in Sonoma County and Pajaro Dunes on Monterey Bay.

"Don't sit on that bench," said Barbara.

"I wasn't going to," I said.

Many outdoor benches and chairs are yellow-taped to keep people off. The V-word. We were completely alone on the pali. We sat down on spongy green grass. The humidity was high. The air was thick with a slight coolness from a breeze that blew off of the ocean.

Barbara's cell phone started to chime.

"It's Deb," she said.

"Daily Deb," I said.

She is a good friend back in Santa Cruz. She and Barb chat almost everyday. Catch each other up on personal news. Cell phones have become our go-to. For everything! I don't need to tell you that, I'm sure.

While they chatted I stared out to sea, preoccupied by the thought that there's no land between us and Japan.

Suddenly, way out on the horizon, I saw a splash! Then another! Dark-colored whoppers frolicking and spouting about two miles out. Gotta be humpbacks.

"Whoa!" I said. I pointed toward the horizon. It was a sign, I told myself. A good sign.