Water soothes the gypsy, calms and evokes pleasant imagery. Vibrant, transparent color, wishing wells of knowledge, fragile glass trinkets, forgotten treasure, long discarded. The sea and her black ink mystery, whispers in tongue, tales only I can decipher. The beach house perched precarious on a bluff, chimes dance and sway in the wind, calling me home. I know this place, I have been here before, she beckons. I am not ready, sea legs unsteady. Spirit bound blue, red and green, hauntingly transparent, over persistent and all too familiar.
My friend always says, “can’t go backwards, only forward.” It’s super annoying. Duh, I know that. I don’t want to go back, but sure as hell would like to head south. Too busy for a staycation, I’d settle for a long week-end. Six, seven days for optimum unwind and relax. Meet me in Miami debauchery, cafe con leche, black beans and rice, hit the old haunts, sea salt brittle in your hair. Not a care in the world, the sun sets the mood. A free wheeling, bicycle peddling, meandering, waste the day with zero guilt. A young guy I know packed his bags, sold his belongings and headed to Hawaii. I asked, “what are you going to do?” “Live off the land, yoga, not sure,” he replied. “I’ll figure it out when I get there.” Ouch. I felt a pang of jealousy and hint of regret in the pit of my stomach. Ah, to be young and wise again. With nothing to do, nowhere to be. Meet me in Miami? Not so I might relive the past, but so I can be reminded. How good it felt. No obligations, no worries, no lists, no regret. Baggage left behind a closed door.