My biking companion

Listening to "Gnossiennes - 3. Lent" by Erik Satie as played by Jean-Yves Thibaudet

It's late and dark...dark as it can only be in a small town.  I'm riding my bike through the quiet streets, feeling the heavy and humid air roll past me in waves as I pedal towards Paragon.  This southern air has a tangible quality, cloying and sweet with scents that prick at my nose.  Honeysuckle?  Perhaps jasmine?  My lack of knowledge when it comes to plants is well known, as witnessed by my black thumbs and many casualties, but I appreciate from afar.

This is one of the many things that I have come to love about living on a sailboat.  I feared when I left Colorado that I would never again live so close to nature, but life on Paragon has left me breathless with it's beauty.  On my morning walk to the showers I spy the jellyfish, engaged in their fluid ballroom dancing, while the hermit crabs scamper around looking overly tough with one giant claw.  Seagulls, turtles, giant crabs and, once, a black bear and her cubs have all graced me with their presence.  And then tonight...

On the last turn I spied a shadow of what I believed to be a cat darting across the road, but as I slowed I noticed it was, in fact, a fox.  

I stopped and she stopped.  We stared. 

Slowly my foot pushed down on the pedal and, as the bike silently glided forward, the most surprising thing happened.  The fox, always staying at least fifteen feet away, ran along with me.  She stayed with me almost the entire way to the marina and then, with a quick look, took her leave.

My heart is filled with wonder and joy as I think to myself, "This is just the beginning..."

The illuminated cloudy sky