Miss Adventure

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“Skip to my Lou pretty lady” it was still funny even though he said it every single day. He’s my skipper and I’m the first mate. So naturally I’m Lou. Saturday came quick as I anxiously anticipated our alone time. It was our first day without passengers in two weeks and life felt like a vacation. A staycation. An even keel. On our boat. Just us. Us and water. There was nothing around as far as we could see. Nothing but us. There was nothing else to be concerned with. Just us. Me and my skipper. The Skip to my Lou.

That moment I knew we had something. Something that would inevitably end but we were in the thick of it. We swam every day. He like to sing. He couldn’t sing well but it sounded beautiful to me. All it took was eye contact. Eye contact ignited us. Our zone, our world, our universe. I attempted to contain our world. Which currently consisted of the yacht.

He dropped the anchor. In the midst of the extreme calmness he whispered in my ear “come closer.” I played hard to get for all of five seconds. He knew better, but it was fun to pretend I didn’t want him. Besides, why shouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t we? I had a vision of our situation before I left London. Maybe it was a premonition or a dream! Regardless, my imagination wouldn’t allow me to let this moment go. On top of that, if I’m brave what should I be afraid of?

The wind blew pretty hard. His American flag and my Union Jack flapped viciously side by side in the zephyr. He moved my hair out of my face. We didn’t speak for a while. It was the loudest and most comfortable silence I’ve ever shared with my skip. Only the birds drifting by could know the freedom I felt in that moment. Sweat was the glue that kept us stuck together. The pitch in sync with our breathing.

There is no feeling like freedom. Having no where to be or no one looking for me. I wonder what he’s thinking about. I hope he’s thinking about me. Then the interruption of the thoughts I was lost in, “What’s your favorite color?”

I turned to look him in his eyes, “green.”

“Mine too.”

And with those two words he sealed the deal.

King in 1967: My dream has ‘turned into a nightmare’ – NBC

It’s not easy being a dreamer.

King in 1967: My dream has ‘turned into a nightmare’ – The Daily Nightly.

Worried Bout the Wrong Things

I see through it and around it.

Miami heat is nothing to play with.

Honestly I’m astounded, and annoyed to be surrounded.

I’m out here melllllting.

On beds of doubtfully baked air.

Trust has us but us seldom means much.

Imagine if giving up was an option.

Ha! Never!

I mash the gas.

No RPM can keep up with my spins.

I give. I give. And I give.

Then I devour the leftovers.

Not full but sustained I continue to creep forward in the dark.

Humidity halts progress and the phone rings.

If you don’t listen you’ll never hear.

Here my dear, it’s all right here!

Once again I’m cemented in puddles of nothingness like Alex Mack.

My secret world remains inconclusive.

But I’m a traveling woman and the east is calling.

Get off my line! The line must be kept clear.

Can you hear me now?

Why waste time worried about the wrong things?

Hello?

In the end, it’s worth it because I’ve got the beach.

Dreams #8

My dreams are brighter than me,

so I often sit and watch and listen.

Boom … boom … boom!

Footsteps from behind,

but I was afraid to turn and look.

Then I was mad at myself for being so shook.

Fear is a waste of time.

Surprises can be overwhelming.

“You’re suppose to be here to help me.”

The warm rub on my shoulder

was reassuring.

Before I could open my eyes

we were falling.

He held me as we fell

and repositioned himself to take the brunt of the impact.

He suggested, “rest your mind, go to sleep.”

I didn’t have the energy to argue.

He felt something like a blanket

swaddling my senses.

Caught out in the cold so many times.

This was the warmest I had ever felt.

It was more than I could have wished for.

It was the most beautiful sleep I had ever experienced.

No dreams just sleep.

I awoke excited to escort my eyes

towards the snug creature.

I tried to decide what I was willing to give up,

a kiss, just a hug?

I rubbed my right hand over the softness for confirmation.

A kiss! I decided in that very second.

My left hand wiped the sleep from my eyes

and I yawned with a loud sigh.

The wind blew beautifully.

Yellow, black, brown, and

orange hairs tossed in the wind.

Then he turned his head to me yawning

and terror overtook me.

His head, tongue and teeth

shattered the sense of comfort I felt moments before.

He shook his black and brown mane.

“So now you’re afraid? Now you fear me?”

I was slow to speak. I don’t want to anger the animal.

“I should have never opened my eyes“ I murmured.

He rolled away from our embrace

and stood up strong like lions do.

It was too late to pretend.

“I’ve given you no reason to be afraid.”

He was right and I was instantly ashamed.

He did not look like my dream but he felt like it.

I reached out to caress his mane and he stepped back.

I tried and failed again.

I couldn’t let a good dream pass me by. Not after the nightmares.

I ran and jumped on the enormous wild cat

and hung from his neck until he gave up and purred in my ear.

As bad as I thought it was,

it was never that bad.

I closed my eyes and rested in the masculine scent of his golden fur.

The moonlight behind us brought an end to another lovely dream.