or more,
beyond the mountains,
an ocean scent of canvas
wafts
past the drifts
and frosted panes,
yellow for boys - green for girls,
a memory of broiling sun
and dripping rain,
of sodden trunks
flung in the corner,
after dark - in modesty
to await a frigid sunrise dip
or new adventure.
Under canvas
we painted our dreams
and fantasies
letting the dancing light
of sun and flashlight
choreograph the future.
- mwl2015
Funny how things hit you between the time you toss your socks in the corner and fall asleep. Lying in bed trying to sleep and I smelled the distinct tang of old canvas and salt air. Oddness, but it was like sodium pentothal, bringing a huge waterfall of memories through time. And I JUST had to put this down before it slipped away again. Funnier still about 90% of this poem was fixed in my mind before the computer had even booted up.
Peace - think Summer!
M.
