I became interested in sailing a few moons ago when I saw Turner on TV in Newport, RI, a wee bit tipsy bragging about his team's chances of winning the World Cup. In those days TT was prone to getting a little liquored up and letting his mouth overload his ass. Since I enjoy all kinds of racing from horses to lawnmowers, I might like sail boats too. That following year I went up that way to see what its all about.
Rolled Into Newport for the annual sailing regatta around brunch time. A week out, this Summer social event of the season had the streets littered with crowds of golden folk. The overwhelming smell of money, old and new was all around. Lots of pearly white teethed people milling about, every kind of pretty was here on the East Coast of America. Thr breeze off the Ocean was perfect.
Pale green dreams.
On soft clean green sheets, cool fresh air kissing our cheeks. Smirks of contented happiness. Sweet dreams on pale green sheets was these. With the arrival of spring we looked forward to bluer skies, blooming flowers and the feel of a lush green grass under our feet. Bringing new hopes with them sweet dreams on those sheets. Warmth of the Sun through the windows, outside cold air calls. Feelings of restlessness and excitement filled us with the coming of spring. Bright colors around the corner. Bird songs in the air.
I, we loved hanging out in bed during those times. Just for the fun of it. Eating ice cream and watching scary movies where one could escape under the covers. Reading the Sunday edition of the New York Times with tea and jammed up biscuits. Oh yes, we even jumped up and down on the bed trying to touch the tall ceilings in this old farm house. This place was so far out in the woods there was no need for curtains on the windows. Who needs clothes when your solitude is this remote.
Punting down the Avon River.
I was on a Christchurch/Canterbury excursion, when I saw her. It was a cool crisp afternoon close to sunset, I was headed to Cathedral Square to see and hear "The Wizard of New Zealand". As the Art of the Wizard unfolded before the assembled crowd, it felt as if someone was staring at me. When I turned to confront them, to see whom it was looking my way, this is when I saw her turning away.
Silhouetted against the colorful festivities her black hat and jacket contrasted the gaiety in the air. It was a frozen moment. With a complexion the color of powder, the perfect canvas for the complementary warmth of her lips. You know one has a sense of style when their hat band and blouse match.
Quickly into the crowd she disappeared. I was intrigued. Should I follow her? Was she really looking at me? Maybe she thought I was someone else. I liked what I saw, my curiosity growing as I caught peripheral glimpses of her. During the Wizards puzzling performance the crowd kept expanding till I lost sight of her. I wanted to see her again if not just for a moment.
Afterwards I ducked into a cozy little watering-hole for a quick pint. A jazz quartet opening up with some toe-tappers when this tall skinny drink of water strolled on stage belting out the blues like a two hundred-pound plus mama. What a voice, kiss my ass, it was her, no it couldn't be. I should get in for a closer look see, could it be?
Rasta Robin sang.
Just after the Sun breached the beach every morning, this Rastafarian Robin would sing, oh boy could this girl sing. The woman's voice floated across dew kissed breezes, touched your skin like a butterfly wings. Song birds would quietly yield to her. One should be so lucky to hear an Angel sing. So am I, you are too, happens daily. What a great way to start the day with a song.
