Terpsichorean Steps

123…123…1234…5678…Walking beside the marina at early dusk, on this penultimate day of the year, lapping waters match my steps. Silhouetted in primrose promise, Brisbane box, fern pines, and loaded Marina Strawberry trees, I have left behind the inviting gates that open on the grand doors that lead to rooftop views constantly looking down on the beckoning bay of golden gates in juxtaposition. A salty mist sprays the air of this beginning, reminding me we are all unfinished. The fog line snakes and weaves back above the presidio treeline trying to rewrap the whole scene in its billowy blanket. Everything mixes with the heady scent of the southern magnolia jauntily picked after the rain when things are fresh, from rainbows to waterfalls. Lookalike dogs of Crissy Field chase and sniff staying out of the soccer games. I bounce light on my feet in the right lane past the masts and sails, in and out of runners, bladers, cyclists, electric yukes, and boards; some are lulu lemoned in crop tops and matching leggings, some fully padded black and helmeted. Outpacing the fog with a shuffle ball change, I heel-toe terpsichorean step to the fork in the sandy desire line. Over the marsh nature bridge repeating the names of the boats: Tupelo Honey, Ergo, Infinity… Madness, Naked Lady, Macanudo…Spirit of Elvis, Cheeky Monkey, Ladybug… Take Five, Kraken, Zephry. The names stir with earthy scents on my tongue unlocking memories. Dancing in the christening etiquette, spin and twirl on Proustian champagne legs. The linked chains are gone. All there is is love. A vast totality holds us in our incompleteness, the thought pirouettes in my head as I cross the bridge to the mountains that waver in the shadows of the headlands. Slipping over the rocks through the calligraphy on bluegrass, I will make it to the Belvederes covered in vines and loop back to ride the ferry. The affluent hillside is covered with fallen fruit, some putrid. Silvery figs in the flotsam under burdened trees look like oozing octopi in a city of overabundance and neglect. Overcast with occasional bright spots, the rough water has turned to glass. Seasonal swells squeezed by the bay turn into subdued waves pounding quantum consciousness into submission. Sudden jerk and we are adrift, lost between day and night. As I search for those end-of-the-year epiphanies, currents move me. Shelter and energy come alive when beginnings are embraced, casting a spell upon yourself against stagnation. As my body sways, one hand holds the rail, and the other hand rummages through my fuzzy pockets for wisdom. A picture. I will keep blessing the space between us. It shares a five spot and a fortune “Speak your fears and they are diminished”. On the other side, past the Ferry Building, I drop a dime on Fortune’s numbers. Pop-u-art Images of women dermaplaning, by any other name a rose shaving.  Every morning peach fuzz closeups with no makeup in that taunting mirror, exfoliation. Never my blood on the blade. Vulnerable in our self-creation, gather resilience from the fact that we are all a small, new part of something immense and ancient.  A bird, a heron descending breaks the air. May a fresh voice through the flames of past years' choice, breathe new fire into the New Year’s words. Take up the sword!  In this continuity, write your story knowing you are never really alone in new beginnings. Find possibilities in the ordinary and strength in the extraordinary. Leave the rabbit with one illusion turn, and head to the dragon. Open the gate on the year of eight. You will see. Tomorrow's dance waits at the Lyon gate, take the 332 steps, join me…