Marblehead Lighthouse State Park

Life is like a ferry stuck on the soles of a thousand bare feet or a child actor choosing between music and acting - the ability to do runs is helpful but not necessary.

Nonsense, and worse, irrelevant, I said in response to Constable. He sullenly threw the rest of his cigarette overboard - having transitioned away from cigars after a tragic natural disaster featuring a toy rocket, two dozen eggs, and a lifelong need to prove a childhood friend wrong once and for all.

But we, like the rowboat and the childhood friend, had emerged unscathed and only slightly singed, all the better for having thrown off the weight of our expectations and the police. Constable informed me that while we were too far from any significant upgrades in jurisdiction to actually escape, Lake Erie actually qualifies as international waters so we only had to remain afloat for the rest of our trip. He felt the need to clarify that I, in fact, had been the one to say all this and none of it was correct.

So there we were, admiring from afar the Music Man-like pomp afforded to Marblehead Lighthouse. Lauded as both "great" and "historic," the house itself is captivated by an enthusiastic historical society of whom the worst that can be said, according to the squirrels in the area, is that Constable and I missed the 200th anniversary celebration of the lighthouse's birth. However, I, unlike the squirrels, see this as more the fault of the Gregorian calendar than of the noble volunteers of this organization.

While I was working diligently and at least napping diligently the rest of the time, Constable was out showing off at a series of slam bars with the other wildlife. He came back with much more grounded stuff than usual, so I told him I would publish it as I see fit and he asked me not to:

There comes a dire point in spelunking Your own mind when you realize that the rope Is too tight and can only hold you back And this is a precious moment to hope That the rope is not the thing keeping you Sane or real or worth the trouble of breath And this is the time to take the rope in Your hands and thank it for stalling your death And hold it tenderly and breathing deep Within your heart feel it sever, and leap.

By gad, the horse hath made me feel something.