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This Little Plot

As I posted previously (December 19, 2011: Winter Solstice), I’d long planned to destroy my old journals. B. helped me carry a heavy bagload to San Francisco’s Ocean Beach on a warm, drizzly winter night. We located a fire pit, and filled it. White-capped waves and the lights of ships out at sea caught my eye, roar of surf and the mournful high wail of a nearby foghorn in my ear. A couple flicks of the lighter, and the pile was alight. An adjacent group cheered when our flames leaped skyward, and I rejoiced in seeing a past that was painful – and self-pitying, petty, and complaining – melt away. The idea of moving heavy baggage (in more ways than one) yet again – after years of carting it from place to place – was unacceptable. Not to mention, the thought of anyone seeing writings not meant for other…

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