Apr 24, 2010

sand in my shoes

sleeping in florida, window open, takes my mind back to my mother's old house. there, nights were restless, palms clacking, trees whisper, water lapping, an animal sound, bird or frog?, sounds just once.
the sounds bring you halfway out of slumber and the tropical air lulls you back under. then finally in the blackest time, all is still -- until the quiet sound of a motor, low wake hitting the seawall, diesel, the smell of coffee and maybe a cigarette and the soft murmur of voices as the first fishing folk head out.
my dreaming mind can follow their path to the end of the canal, out into new river, and then the intracoastal waterway. just one bridge then, which probably won't need to open for them. and into port everglades, tiny as a flea beside the world's largest cruise ships, and on out thru the chop -- watch the coffee! -- thru the churning passage into the atlantic!
then where? to find the turqouise gulfstream? out of sight of land? but now it is a hot dawn and the parrots have shouted me out of bed.

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