Travelling Days

Spring is here and I have been walking barefoot across the wet sand with the sun warming my back. I love those first days when I can enjoy fleeting evening sun and I feel as if I am waking up from a long winter slumber as I skim stones out into the waves and go back to brew coffee which I sit and drink out on my driftwood bench while I view the sea. I have cast aside my jacket and sit out in my t-shirt.

Last night was warm and I slept fitfully with vivid dreams about my traveling days. This was the time when I would paint during the day and, in the evening, sing for my supper - or a bed for the night. In my dream I remembered the long daytime walks, the friends I met and lips I kissed. My songs were the songs of leaving and so, when I stopped leaving, I also stopped writing. I can barely remember them but I sang a song in my dream and so this morning I pulled a small guitar from its blanket case and played and sang for the wind and the waves...