Cruise ships like horizontal skyscrapers, moving, logy, across the bay, leaving behind vertical hotels and timeshares rising emptily over the water, the uneven sawtooth of the mountains behind them, misty, implacable, waiting. They seem conscious of what a brief burst all this is, though they're not forever either.
But I don't have time for such ruminations, bound up these days in the insistence of the present. The urgencies of eating, peeing, running, seeing cats and dogs, imitating their sounds, moving things from place to place, noting the locations of round, rubbery objects, monitoring the relationship between water and child. Sometimes I read aloud whatever I'm reading, skipping over words like "rape" and "cigarette." Time passes.