It's all gotta go somewhere

Cyclone 6

As roughly told to D on the night of August 4, 2017

And look, there he goes!

Red, swirling, a cloud of glowing dust behind him. Glowing, sparkly dust. He’s out of the window now, weaving through the branches of the magnoila tree, and up, up, up he goes, into the cool night. He’s stretching out his long arms and getting more lift; the evening breeze is lifting him far and away from us, out of our grasp…

“Goodbye, 6! And hang on!” I call out the window, but he just laughs. He’s turning cartwheels, jumping, skipping and surfing now, the inivisble hands of the sky holding him aloft. Swoosh, he flies just above the ancient Douglas Fir treetops that line the riverbed. He passes by an eagle, who is settling into his top branch nest, tucking his wings in and pulling his head away from the crimson energy ball. 

Now his rocket booster pack kicks into full gear, and he looks like a shooting star, streaking away. First Camas, then Vancouver, then Portland appear in his rear-view mirror. Up and over farm lands, look at the tiny tractors below! Might there be a boy down there to play ball with, or race cars? No time to find out, because he’s got to report to HQ, and now he can smell the sea…

So, he turns to the west, pulled by the stars, and the tides, and the dolphins, chasing the tail of the last rays of this particular, perfect day. He is going back to where he first started. Remember? For he is salt and calcium, magnesium and potassium; he is electrons, photons and fission. He is part sun, part star; snowflake and raindrop; cummulus and lightening. He is the distilled essence of age 6.

See him now, flying lower and lower, skimming across the giant waves of the sea, like a gull looking for dinner? A humpback whale gives him a welcome with his massive tail fin. Splash! He keeps going though, deeper into the horizon. He reaches out for the very end of the sea, getting smaller and smaller. Then, the wide arms of his mother–the pale late sun–wrap around him, his fiery red glow mixing with blue of the sea, painting the sky in luminous violet and bright fuchsia.

And then he is gone. 


  1. Lori

    Beautiful – love your writing, love your warmth, love you!

    • Maida

      Thank you!

  2. Grandma Beverly

    You are a born writer! So beautifully written I could see it and smell the ocean. Such a warm and creative way to say goodbye to 6 and usher in 7. I would want you to tell me a story every night!

    • Maida

      Thanks so much!

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