Setting up early in the morning, I take my place amongst the vendors. I curse quietly setting up the cheap blue tarp tent that my tight fisted ex -husband bought. Its not sturdy and its not as lovely as the others. Every Saturday, I think these thoughts. Along the way of bending and lifting and shaking the damn thing out, I get some help. The cookie man who is on a life's mission of vengence with good left hook of righteouness helps me while he relays his latest tatic (conspiracy) . The Irish farm lady is with me on the other side lifting and swearing and suggesting I buy a new one. But not yet. Not yet I say.

 My table setup is easy and I stand behind the sign with a large cuppa and greet people as they pass. The lens from my stand is obong and rectangular. The Farmer's Mkt is right across from the harbor and I watch the boats slowly pass and awake to the summers delight. The winds are quiet today and the breeze is just right. There are people walking no where in paticular, some are A type personalities that succeed in life on every outside leval. There are the slower passed people who meander and smile who take it as it comes this life. I often speculate about the passerbyers. There are the elderly who walk with a stroller, or a cane, their hips tuned upside down.

These are all views that I see as I stand behind that table and parade in my present moment as a Fishmonger. But I can see and feel alot of those people. My sense of their  journey sometimes seems bewildering. What I have sensed as of late is that people need to speak to one another to bid hello and stop and mindlessly chat. They have a need to use their manners and smile brightly and bid adieu with an open heart to their fellow stranger. They need this as I do.

Its at about ten olclock that my lonliness meter starts to tick and I can feel the sensation in my body. Small light beats of the heart and emotions coming up and going down with subtle vibrations. I miss my mother in this moment, I miss love in this moment, I miss the green and the golds of fields in this moment. The knowning its the knowning. After all is that not what we all want is for someone to really know us the true us. Lately, its been a lesson in humility. I want no one to know me but my god but that is not realistic. What do we do when People fail us, when they show they are failable in the worst way.

When others break your heart you get over it.  But for some reason when one breaks your trust you feel like your on a tight rope walking high above the world unsure of the all the names of colors, and trees, and things random things. How can you trust they are what they are, how can you be sure they are good for you. My mind is loud and my heart is lonely on these Saturdays. But somewhere in all of this mixed muddy pool of emotions and thoughts running streamlessly through me , I do find the beauty in it all.

The markets always teach me something. Every Saturday I meet the amazing souls, the jackassess, the clueless, the non commital, the ones asleep, and the ones of indifference. I scan them like a grocery checkout lane, and when I am courageous I question them about who they are and what are they doing in that moment. People tell me stories, share with me their adventures, sometimes their absolutely heartbreak. And I listen. Recognizing them again and again will make them feel a part of something, myself as well. Every Saturday becoming deeper engrained in this world community.

When I start to break down my stand, I feel it like a shadow. Packing and driving away I bid it goodby until next time. I leave all the emotion by that oak tree. My mistakes, my envy, my joy. I leave it and drive away and know that next Saturday some of these emotions will visit me again, and by the harbor in that day, I the fishmonger will feel my mortality yet again.