What do I write?

He who perceived himself as a creative genius snickered at the self-description and decided to write something clever. To follow in the footsteps of his dead mentors, he searched out a bottle of liquor, plucked some cola from the refrigerator, mixed the two together with two ice cubes and a splash of lime and padded over to his computer.
With each step over the cold vinyl floor, the ponderment of what to write flowed through his mind.
Although the greats, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Arthur Clark and the twisted Harlan Ellison did the majority of their work on black manual typewriters, the creative genius favored a laptop computer. This, after a disastrous relationship with his own typewriter which, again following the greats, wound up being pummeled to scrap with a sledge hammer after a particularly severe bout of malfunction. Upon realizing what he had done, he went electronic. There are, after all, some things that have become better over the years.
He settled into the gray discount computer chair with the worn armrests and perpetually creaky demeanor, and stared at the monitor flashing a screen saver of moving pictures he'd taken with a digital camera. An unposed shot of his niece smiling during a family celebration, a picture of Mt. Rainier during a blazing sunrise with hues of reds and flaming coppers melding with the blue of sky and tranquil Puget Sound. Other pictures rotated through uncaring if they were observed or not.
The genius wiggled the mouse, summoning the wall paper image of a yellow Ferrari 328 parked before a rectangular pond, a signal to his subconscious that this was a reward should he actually come up with something delivering a favorable amount of return. That or helicopter pilot lessons.
A sigh guided his work-weary physique to settle in the chair, leaving him feel as creaky as the springs and supports under the upholstery.
Following a generous swig from the drink, he waved his fingers over the keyboard, miming a conductor readying the orchestra for symphony.
Grinning at his movements, he moved the mouse to open the writing program, allowing his every fantasy and wish to be transferred to bytes and binary code. The program flashed on the screen and a fresh white page lay before him.
The electronic paper waiting patiently for words of...what? He pursed his lips, took another hit from the tumbler, admiring the spiced rum, pondered what to write.
"Okay, genius, come up with something creative to dazzle and entertain," he commanded.
A short chortle was the answer. His subconscious, as stubborn as ever, responded like a ten year-old with a secret, crossing its ethereal arms, smugly smiling and looking away.
"As if you could command me to do something," the subconscious said.
"Listen," the genius said in a most parental tone. "As you are me, and I am in control of myself, I do in fact order you to be clever and assist me."
"Ha!" the subconscious retorted raising its chin and rolling its eyes. "Make me."
The genius looked out the window at oak trees and sage brush covered hills trying to figure out a way to trick his subconscious. The major difficulty was the subconscious was aware of everything and not easily tricked.
He tapped the keyboard just light enough not to cause any letters to appear on the screen. The blank white screen mocked him as much as his subconscious. He tapped more. Tap tap tap tap tap. Rhythmically with one hand, then the other. The left didn't move as fast as the right. Ambidextrous, he wasn't.
He sighed again and took another swallow of the amber fluid, noting the glass was half-full. Or at this point, half-empty. And the cubes had melted. And there were fingerprints on it.
This wouldn't do for him. His subconscious laughed. Not behind his back, but pointed directly at him and said, "nothing to write? Yeah, well, something will come about if you're good to me." The subconscious tapped its toe, brought one hind to its chin and gazed skyward. With a flipping motion of its hand and looking to the upper right, it mused, "how about writing about falling into a crystal?"
"What?"
But before He who fancied himself as a genius could come up with an argument, he imagined shrinking, shrinking. The room growing larger as he first halved in size, then lost more and more mass. He jumped on his desk, ran next to the keyboard and stood on a rose quartz crystal to look at the monitor now towering above like a drive-in movie screen. He now stood as tall as a thimble.
Noting the gargantuan size of even common things, chair, desk, the warren of dust bunnies next to the file cabinet, he nodded. "Hmmm," he said raising one eyebrow. "You know, you might have something there. It'd be fun to become microscopic, then smaller still."
He dwindled to the size of a dust particle and saw monstrous mites slowly dining on flakes of skin, their fierce mandibles moving back and forth. The shrinking continued. He realized he now stood as tall as a blood cell, even dust looking alien and foreboding. The room much to large to be in focus. By now he stopped looking up and gazed at the surroundings. Simply amazing. A vast pink plane of crystal, long lines of geometric structure stretched out before him like an icy planet.
His diminutive stature kept reducing. Everything now appeared to be humming with energy. The crystal itself kept changing. The lines became as huge as freeway overpasses. Larger still and he slipped into a crack.
Falling and falling.
"It's so strange, " he said putting his arms out for balance. "I'm not sure I like this."
"Stop being such a pansy," his subconscious said. "You can't get hurt. You're too light to land hard. What's the matter with you?"
"Oh," he said sheepishly. "I knew that." He let the fall continue. The crevasse opened wider and wider. Soon, the patterns in the walls became more geometric. Like quilting in stone. Flashes darted everywhere. Light seemed to come from all directions. The sensation of falling passed. As if he were too small to be affected by gravity. But the crystal walls continued upward. Slower now. The patterns intrigued him very much and he studied them closer. He reached out and touched what were tiny balls intermixed with other balls. They tickled. The laughter felt good and made him lighter still. He stroked, swimming in the air, or between the air, towards the balls. They grew larger and were everywhere. Rotating and vibrating spheres of energy everywhere. They bumped him, each time giving him tingles of excitement. He realized what they were. "Of course," he chimed. "Molecules!" And he laughed.
Odd shapes took form inside the spheres. He snorted a giggle and went directly inside one of the orbs. Whirls of smaller balls flew around the nucleus like frantic planets. Some of the planets switched orbits from one set to another.
"Look!" he exclaimed like a little child to his subconscious. A sense of joy filled him. He felt so light. The orbiting balls grew in size. Whooshing sounds created a movie sense of surrealness. They flew all around him. Now, inside the center he saw tiny spheres, sending out energy frequencies like radios, each with its own glorious song.
"Whoa," he said putting an arm around his subconscious. "Is this something or what?"
They flew between the protons and neutrons, further and further until so many other particles became visible. Glowing in rainbow dazzling colors. They flew together, silent in absolute awe of the splendor of it all. Billions and trillions of bits of energy and trails flew everywhere. The energy and trails and particles passed through the voyagers as if there were not even there.
"I think those are photons," he said. "Basic forms of light that seem to be particles and waves at the same time. Look! See how they phase in and out? Like they're going to other dimensions and back. If they can, could we?"
"I think so," His subconscious said. "But that'll have to wait. Right now I think you should get going and write something."
"Good idea," he said to his subconscious, as it walked away with a cocky spring in its step. He waved. "Thanks."
"Yeah," his subconscious said without turning around. "I know. See you later."

Seal or Selkie Friend, a heart captured

Pacific Grove, California.

The morning sun glimmered above the eastern horizon in a storybook blue sky. Eager to try out a new buoyancy compensator (BCD) to complement my scuba equipment, I entered the chilly tranquil water, put my fins on and kicked out into Monterey Bay. Beams of light created a ballet of rainbows that danced on the rippled sandy sea floor 30 feet below. Kelp fronds swayed back and forth in a gentle rhythm of the sea. The visibility was splendid for the area. I could see sixty feet or more. Details from the surface were plainly visible; the rocks contrasting colorfully with the white quartz sand. After kicking out about 150 yards, I lifted my BCD inflator, pressed one of the buttons and air escaped from the device.

I left the surface world of air and noise to enjoy the serenity in the aquiline waters. Clearing my ears regularly, I pressed another button, filling the rubber bladder with air until I hovered halfway between the bottom and the surface. The balance meant the BCD worked perfectly. A small school of opal-eye fish meandered through the slender brown kelp leave picking at tiny crustaceans and other delicacies.

In the distance a shadow caught my attention. Watching the shadow revealed its identity as a harbor seal. She was about five feet long, her coat silver and highlighted with brown spots. The large brown eyes were expressive and demure. Like most harbor seals, she kept a distance, darting back and forth to watch me then dart out of sight.

Continuing to check my dive gear, my attention became diverted by a flash to my right. The little seal had come within several feet, then with powerful rear flippers, dashed off when she saw that I noticed her. I kept a watch from the corner of my eye, noting that her approach became more daring. Every time she noted that I spied her, she'd streak away, watching me with backward glances. Several times I quickly turned, and she'd speed off, a glint in her gaze, popping tiny bubbles from her mouth, apparently laughing at the game we began.

Effortlessly, she made for the surface, exhaling and taking in a breath all the while keeping diligent watch on me.

Becoming more intrepid, her advance took her within a few feet of me, usually from the side or behind. I'd spin quickly, sending her zipping away, each time not as distant as the last. Twice she came around behind my head, as if trying to hide, but fled as we made eye contact. One time I made a full 360 degree turn mindful of her every move. With strokes of her flippers, she vanished behind a rock outcropping then peeked from behind a long, wide frond of brown lamineria algae. I laughed at the antics of my new friend.

She emerged from her hiding place, approached closer, nibbled on my fins then rushed away as I made playful 'shoo' motions with my gloved hands. The little seal moved directly in front of me about a dozen feet away, changing her body language to face me. Her movements became slow and direct. She moved in a wide arc, then drew nearer with purpose. For a moment, she halted as if contemplating what to do next. With slow motions of her hind flippers, she came closer and closer, her soulful doe brown eyes fixed on mine.

I remained quite still, exhaling gradually and releasing a long stream of bubbles, wishing not to frighten her. She drifted near, reached over and chewed gently on my fin, watching me, then nosed the strap of my knife on my calf, moving up my body. Curious, she paused to gaze at each article of my dive gear. My blue goodie bag, my weightbelt, the front of my BCD. She halted, eye to eye with me.

Her little silver front flippers gently gripped my sides. I gradually extended my arms and touched, then stroked her soft fur. Getting intimately closer, she pushed at my face, I felt her whiskers on my exposed cheeks, and she nudged me on the nose. She graced me with a seal kiss!

For a long and dear moment, we held each other, eyes focused on each other. In the ancient rhythm of the sea we waltzed for a dream-like timeless dance. I could not recall such a magical moment with a wild animal ever before or since. She released me, taking a piece of my heart with her, and did a slow-motion back flip to halt and again gaze into my eyes.

Was this really a seal? Or a Selkie of Irish folklore; a woman in enchanted form?

She approached again, then nipped my arm, the spell broken, her teeth penetrating my neoprene suit, but only touching the skin--seal play. I swatted at her, letting her know that biting was not proper behavior--I didn't even know her name! She spun away from me, and stayed near my side for the rest of the dive. My air supply diminishing, I made for shore with my enchanting escort close by. She glided next to me, rubbing against my arm or leg.

Rising to the surface, I spotted friends on shore who arrived after I began my dive. They pointed at the seal, who broke the surface next to me.

I kicked in, reaching the shallows and the realm of gravity. I stood, pulling off my fins and walking to shore. The amazing realm of the sea remained behind. My gear, weighing nothing underwater, gained its full 70 pounds of tank, weights and gear. The white course sand crunched under my feet as I trudged to dry land.

The little seal followed until the water was knee-deep then stopped, looking at me with the most alluring expression. A combination of unabashed affection and pain at observing her new friend leave. I understand the enchantment of the Selkie. How it pulls with startling intensity.

My friends listened as I shared the tale of our waltz under the sea.

The little seal splashed just off shore, watching as if wanting me to return.

Road Kill

I work in the Los Padres National Forest as what is called a 'Zone Area Engineer'. Frequently I'm out in territories where few people go on dirt roads on mountain sides and in oak forests.
Out on a road called Cameusa, I was checking back country areas for a grading contract.
In the far reaches far from anyone an unusual set of markings caught my eye. Ahead on the dusty lane were marks that stretched for about thirty yards. I stopped the truck and got out.
Then the drama really unfolded in front of me.
The odd markings to what appeared to be beginning. There were two sets of tracks: deer and mountain lion. The leading sets of tracks were far apart. Both animals were running. One for its life. The other in predatory hunger. The lion prints stopped leaving four tracks very close to each other and the sprays of dust behind. This was were the leap began.
The soft ground showed deep gouges where hooves and paws clawed the earth. Spatters of dust indicated where the struggle ensued. In a lethal embrace, the flattened marks where two bodies lay together. Both the signs showed the lion and the deer were of adult size.
Large clots of blood, still tinged with red, pooled in minor depressions on the road. Evidence that the lion held the deer for some time. Waiting for the inevitable reward of death. I nudged one of the clots with my boot. The dark mass was still pliable. I crouched down for better observation.
It looked like Hawaiian lava; dark and crusty on the outside, red and viscous inside.
As the outside temperature hovered about 95 degrees, touching the masses wouldn't have given me any accurate time frame. But the interior liquid said this happened perhaps an hour ago or even earlier.
I stood and looked at the trail. Two long marks, one obviously the body, and a smaller one with two tracks meant the legs were trailing alongside. There were no marks from the lion. My guess was the prey had been too large to carry. or easily walk and drag. The cougar moved ahead of its victim, performing a tug of war with the corpse.
The warm forest air transferred the sounds of crickets and birds. The world spun, life went on and virtually ignored my presence. Only a minor life form on the living planet.
I looked around knowing I wasn't alone. The closest human probably walked or drove about 15 or twenty miles away. Although I couldn't see anything save the occasional scrub jay, butterfly or finch, the tracks on the ground and periodic sounds of movement in the brush informed me I was surrounded by life.
Following the markings proved to be easy. I walked along the signs, for some reason not wanting to disturb the evidence. The ground crunched under my work boots and gave the impression that an elephant danced through a potato chip factory. The more I attempted to walk silently, the more I felt the canyons echoed my presence. Could I have announced myself any more? The drag signs took a turn off the road and bent, dried harvest gold grasses pointed the way. Small sage brushes had broken branches. I followed the tracks and stopped before a grove of blue oak trees. The sounds of the area ceased. A few crickets and cicadas chirped, but the birds and brush sounds halted.
I smiled and half chuckled. Did I really want to go into a thicket of trees, find a mountain lion and disturb it feeding on a kill? I wanted to, but common sense told me disturbing an alpha predator covered in blood may trigger a quick response in protecting its breakfast.
Making deliberate movements, I retraced my path. Slow, slow, slow. Just in case someone watched. Fast actions would trigger a chase instinct.
The drama of life and death had been laid out in the road like a chapter in a huge book of nature. The words came in marks, most less than an inch high. The sentences and paragraphs read like the best crime novel. Only the last chapter, played out in the grove of trees, remain unknown. Even in my perpetual curiosity knew not to turn that page.
Back in the truck I started the engine, the air conditioning blew chilly across my face. The entire experience charged me with the endorphins that make one state, "wow," over and over again.
I'll remember this road kill for some time.