Page 45 - WTP Vol. VIII #3

palms lining the bluff caught the first rays of dawn. To the left I heard the whine of a flight leaving the airport and rising at a steep angle before disappear- ing into the grey. When I looked back the couple were entering the mist near the surfline and they soon vanished completely.
The day already warming, the fog soon lifted into vapor and the sea showed its placid face to the sun,
a calm contrast to the emotion of the evening. What I’d heard during the night centered upon uncertainty, confusion, misguided determination, but most of all
a sense of bafflement. I understood and sympathized, knowing that we needed each other for balance, a sense of equilibrium, and yet we skin across one an-
other unable to hear anything but our own voice, see anything but our own drama, the personal blinding us. Once we step back and question our mind-set, our possible misconceptions, an alteration isn’t that hard to make.
Not long ago, Deanna had said, You can’t help us the way you are. I took it as a slight, bound up in myself as I was. But I now know she was right.
After a number of years in the film business, Luster returned to writing and has published in Review Americana, Quarterly West, Lynx Eye (a Pushcart Nominee), Hen House Press, and Lighthouse, among others.
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