A L O H A!
click on photos to see & smell the sea!" It is impossible to defeat an ignorant man in argument."
William G. McAdoo
William G. McAdoo
" The writer is the engineer of the human soul"
Well, as I sagely predicted, my happy side has bobbed to the top again.
It never ceases to amaze and delight me,
I finally possess a magical talisman or something!
I've confessed my crabby past, and you lovely, bloggy friends came visiting with tasty cupcakes, perfectly ripe fruit, and a crop of rosy comments!
You uplift and you humble me
in a most pleasant fashion.
Being a person among other people (blogger among bloggers?) is really very nice; when those others are like
Y O U !
Having my faithful kayak tied just outside the hatch
(you call it a "door")
just at the top of that companionway (ladder) over there,
two paces from where I write this,
doesn't hurt my prospects for a paradisaical afternoon either.
One minute my eyes are living through this silicon screen,
the next I'm pushing off,
and skimming out into the channel
behind my home-boat.
Water flows (I'm reminded)
like the web, touching every shore,
but it is wet, and fragrant and intimately close
when you glide upon it low,
with a wet bottom.
Normally I enter from the land, down the dock, and into my home via the Port hatch. It's such a delightsome, kid-like whimsy to slip out the other side (Starboard) and traverse a completely different venue.
I'm like the character in a surrealist nursery rhyme, exiting my chimney to float above the town
in the basket of a jolly red balloon.
Wind in the willows, wind in my hair. . . . Deedle DEE!
That's how the singing begins.
My senses open with the skies.
From out here on the water
sky and heart are unobstructed.
Settling into my own physical rhythms,
heart synchronizes with the sway of the waves.
Lungs exalt to be filled and under load once more.
Soon I begin to hear the piano concerto sky.
Sweeping passages of cloud and color
interlace with arpeggios of torn cumulus notes
that glissando into every shade of emotion,
And each passing piece of flotsam,
is a tiki from the sea,
bumping my canoe with it's brusque little blessing,
bobbling away with satisfaction,
in the winged sweep of my wake.
Floating flowers decorate the grocery bags.
And nets of radiant modulation
evolve like a web of tiny ridges
across the bulging tidal surge.
a sneaky, confident little Autumn
is laying her clues everywhere.
These trade winds carry the scent of Northern Cooling
and keep the hurricane
to the south.
The Canada Geese of my heart
begin to flutter
All this treasure
for the plunder!
I will be bold
as a pirate
and fill my
A L O H A! Cloudia