Touching Waves

Last night's camp was in an abandoned privy on the western border of Toledo. The storm was swallowing down town and turns in Rt. 20 with a big mouthful of water and I was walking blind just waiting for a semi to take me under its wheels, a distracted car to take me out in a wide turn. The defunct restroom outside the boarded up business called me back forgiving my revulsion. Covered in a rich deep ivy, door splintered, two toilets taken from the floor leaving rusted cast iron throats spilling up through the floor, a floor on it's way back to earth, it was haunting at best. There have been worst camps, rats included. They have been few. Choices were spent now though. On a plastic sheet I carry as a tent footprint I lay a sleeping mat and forbid myself to roll over and breathe only if I had to. The storm increased changing its medium to ice then back to rain. Spiders came down the wet walls and a rank smell of decay crept up and over me. Still, feeling safe I relaxed into something like a smile although more like a fist relaxing.
When morning came the sky had calmed to a sprinkle. Dancing Bear was visited again, coffee shared while I was interviewed by two radio shows and set up stories to be done with the Newport newspaper tomorrow.
Even though this is not the end of this journey or the last miles, I did step my wet feet into a wave as I trembled joyfully over a goal walked toward for a very long time. Tonight I will find a better camp and peer out over the ocean as I did in Maine so long ago. Tomorrow I head north toward the end of a dream.