Yesterday, the birthday party was a great success. Everybody had fun and there was a pleasant air of celebration. At first Rhys didn't seem to understand what was happening. He was quiet and seemed to not quite know what to do. We kept reminding him that it was "his" birthday. But he settled into it all pretty quickly once things got going.
We all visited the fire station together and the firemen let the kids sit up in the truck and pretend that they were driving. There is a museum in the front of the building where they have preserved some old firetrucks from Sonoma's heyday. One of the classic pump trucks was reported to have put out a fire using the wine from opened barrels. There was no accessible water anywhere. They did what they had to.
The kids all had fun looking at the fire stuff and ringing the antique sirens.
Afterwards, we went across the street to a back room in a pizza place designed for kids' birthday parties. There was pizza and salad and soda and cake. The little ones played a game in which they tried to connect taped spoons to a picture of the birthday boy on the wall.
They all seemed to love being blindfolded and spun in circles by Rhys' mommy.
Time crawls on, only those that are paying a certain type of attention seem to notice. Just look at Rhys, looking at Rhys.
Today, there is the sunrise. It is alone on my list of things. It seems an easy enough aim.
As an old fisherman, I will wade and then paddle into pre-dawn, casting my line out into nothingness, to see what bites.
It will smell the bait somewhere far east of here, see the wiggling lure; unable to resist the urge, the need, it will move towards temptation. All things do.
Once the early ripple is detected then I will reel this sun slowly in, patiently, to pull it jumping enormous out of darkness with a billion mile thread connected. It will arc up over the boat in precise slow motion as if our very lives depended.
There is nobody that can stop.
.
