Point Hudson Café

By John Delaney

After I order, I look at the boats in the marina from my window seat, undulating like white piano keys in a light wind across the water. Gulls hover high above their masts like notes.

The breakfast chatter is just loud enough to render words into laughs. A buzzing peace. We’re a sun-up, chow-down crowd, mostly seniors and regulars from town or Retirement Vehicle residents.

The sun is blinding, so some blinds come down. I examine the chart of my placemat, showing in nautical exactitude the range of anchorages in Puget Sound, the fathomed depths of each channel.

Somehow, with our Good Place Sense, we found our way here. And now comes the food and my attention turns more practical to an egg, a pancake, and one piece of bacon: the chef’s special from the chalkboard menu.

Leashed to schedules, some are led away, but there’s nowhere I need yet to go. I am moored in thought, idling my spoon in a cup of coffee, while today sends an RSVP to tomorrow.

Companions

By John Delaney

My old car drove by me this afternoon. I recognized the quirky rear dent, that is its birthmark, in the side mirror. Twenty years old! And two since I sold it. But there it went: someone else at the wheel.

I was surprised, of course, but solaced, too. So much time we had spent together, running trips and errands, commuting years, ready to go, like a dog for a walk, when I turned the key. Best of companions.

Then I thought of all the mortal others who shared with me a term of days: hopeful that they survive somewhere on this planet, that those I loved now ride with someone else, no worse for wear—all heading places still.