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One aloof cloud glides over the ships-grey arched skeleton of the Sagamore Bridge, a cotton white puff against the industrial steel framework and dominant cerulean backdrop. Slow drifting, it contrasts with hurricane-force wind squeezing my eyes into stroboscopic slits.

One-thousand-and-one.

The uprushing Cape Cod Canal gleams, denim blue, bestrewn with short crests crowned white at the curls. A sailboat treks northeast, solitary voyager, oblivious. Contentment claims me, a first in recent memory.

(Image source: Structurae ) Used with permission.

One-thousand-and-two.

Sun, celestial nurturer of earthbound life by acclamation of the universe, flushes incandescent the bare skin of one forsaken. Weightless in flight, I recede from the bridge, aware the gravity tariff comes due, a matter on which I might equivocate, if armed with time and common sense. Water, official catcher of the self-condemned, prepares its reception, bereft of opinion.

One-thousand-and-th

Resistance; stronger, slowing, stopping, rebounding, bouncing. My first bungee jump, trauma-cleansing, transcendent, and… ready for jump two!

 

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