After months of planning and loading and carting and unloading it comes down to me, sitting on my new deck, smoking a cigar. Tomorrow is the last load. My shop space, my precious man-cave of the last five years, is almost empty. A few bikes to move tomorrow and it will be done. And not a mark left in the passing, pardon the pun.
It is the same story with my former domicile. I have disappeared without a trace. I guess there is something to be said for passing away so swiftly and with such little notice. There is eternity before one and eternity after one yet we are consumed with the briefest of moments when we strut and fret our hour upon the stage.
Tomorrow maybe I will paddle around Blake Island for the first time. New waters and all of that, after, of course, I unpack that last load.
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