It wasn't raining today when the plane touched the runway. I wasn't expecting it as much as I was hoping for it, but the disappointment is mild at worst. The city sparkled in the sunlight, all glass and stone and culture I've never known. It's too picturesque from across the bay, the Sound pulling it away from reality and setting it atop rolling Pacific waters, waters I only seem to traverse in my mind. The beach was full of flesh, dotted with sunburned bodies and the trappings of life by the sea. Across that dreamy stretch of water, the city winked back, the piers shrugging affably to allow the ferries port at their shoulders. It's true that none of this occurs to me at the moment, but I do recall winking back. I'm absorbed in a kind of hazy contentment, tinged with the anxiety of new surroundings, flavored by weariness I've carried from the desert. My family doesn't know truly why I'm here, only that I'm on vacation. They don't know, for instance, what I left in my wake in that dusty town, and why it has driven me north as far as I can get. Not that it matters. None of it matters anymore, and for that I'm grateful. Surrounded by a pressing and enveloping green, with the smell of the sea on the air and the looming shadow of a full fledged city to guard me, my problems seem far away tonight. Which I suppose was the point all along.