Tomorrow I'm having a picnic. Yay. And the weather's improving. Double yay!
Lately it seems like everyone's looking forward to the thing I should be looking forward to as well, but I just can't. Plus I have other things on my mind. And I'm just fine with that... so don't ruin my fun.
I crave to return to the ocean again,
To have the sea salt sculpt my hair
Into perfectly touseled waves
That mirror the water.
Blasting Better Than Ezra and all that perfect beach music
While creating a dance with the teasing waves
That you must learn to trust
Even though they always return to where they came from.
The dance is a combination of heel and toe,
Spinning, swiveling, stepping,
Exchanging old dry sand with the new,
Just brought in.
Nothing compares to the rush
As that first wave of the summer embraces you,
Surrounding you with a current,
Pulling you closer
To where you want to be,
Where you should be,
Losing breath from the kiss of the sea,
Anticipated all year.
So we will drive our
Green, four-door Jeep Wrangler
With the top down,
Trace highway 12 once again,
Even though we could do it
Blindfolded,
And drive past that same blue mansion
Whose boardwalk we trespassed on,
Smuggling vodka and new friends
Onto our home terrain,
The cold night sand
Hugging our eager feet.
Another summer rolls around,
And we will come back with more than just tan lines.
Yepp, that's Avon Pier.
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