Do Nothing Meticulously

Surfing, even when there are no waves.

Dear reader,

I haven’t been working.

I’ve been perfecting the build of a shade structure made from driftwood logs on the beach, while my landmates surf waves I deem too complicated for Sunday’s rest.

I haven’t been working.

I’ve been sipping coffee with Forrester and his parrots at a smog shop in between two gas stations, waiting for my twenty-two year old car to pass a test.

I haven’t been working.

I’ve been half-naked in a ball cap with Zara, belly down on sea rocks and elbow-deep in the water, grasping at seaweed to harvest.

I haven’t been working.

I’ve been hitchhiking back to town after a meandering walk in the dunes that took us too far from the truck.

I haven’t been working.

I’ve been standing on a hillside while three Spanish-speaking cowboys ride horseback just below the ridgeline.

I haven’t been working.

I’ve been held tightly in my lovers arms, resting in the liminal space between waking and talking.