Friday, February 6, 2009
When day is almost at rest, and there is the last remnant of my ideas and revelations ~ Easy chair relents calling to me, my tired feet relish such an activity, there is that stolen moment before the firmaments turn to lilac and pink hues where I can at last brew, My gods ambrosia. My welcome cup of coffee with honey, in my favorite seafarers design cup. Oh the life I used to live while I was living on that old sailboat.
Skippers restaurant beckoned with a sturdy waitress and her never ending pot of strong Joe as My dad used to affectionately refer to coffee
Sometimes I feel like I have to put inspiration on a coat rack. Inspiration, my true friend, must you visit again, time falters, duty remains. Interference play, that old game too many items to list, to much time to gain, attend to that and short cut this, Triumphant never, but the brass ring waits, just on the other side of the grassy knoll. Rest, learn to sew, perhaps a quilt made from memories.
Alas, all too late, just another past time. Just like a sturdy athlete running interference. His ploy is well rehearsed he means to detain. Another day lost and all the burdens remain.
Memories Weather beaten by storm, taken hell only to wait by the door, like my trusting hat, coat and cane. Life is cocoanut palm tree green dreams. Caribbean get a ways as we ponder over things that we must accomplish today. Cocoa nut juice pearly white in my coffee cup mixes a potion meant to mainstay, maintain my dreams. Straw-hat tourists the sun catches the white fabric of their apparel, how the breeze suggests time would be better spent listening to the seabirds and last calls from horns attached to travelers vessels and the working sea horses, those sea vessels we routinely see, the tug boats ferries, some elderly sailing vessels. Ship yard residents. With defiant wails the last vestiges of this sweet memory fade from my hearing range.
Shells gleaming in tropical sun, turquoise sea beckoning to me. How I wish those tropical sands could sandblast my brain to get it sparkling clean, but also leave the time worn memories. Building beauty creations taste light wind air. How I wish those tropical winds could whisper through my dreams cleansing my soul of the horrid past, and many other uncertain pasts, and leave only the good memories my brain to get it sparkling clean.
Always in. mom is quiet time out positive picture wind can see birds butterflies alighting on spring flowers
Silver white tabby mommy kitty is hunting again near the storm-ravaged fence.