The fire crackles, the chill air blows. The toads mumble their eloquent prose. Tent flaps snap in the misty air. The smoke dances circles with dramatic flair. The hoot of an owl keeps the mice at bay. Baby does return home for a night’s rest from play. The burbling brook flows past our heads. Creating a beat for the night’s sleep ahead.
Salty waves curl towards the skies. Tumbling and flowing, not hiding it’s guise. As we stalk from the depths, our sandy feet find purchase in the soft warm sand. The sun has baked a delicious crisp crust, awaiting our toes to break the surface. We walk from the water, towards a shady spot on the beach. We prop our feet up and soak in the heat. The day has done wonders to replenish our souls. The water and the waves have given us a new meaning. The replenishing chill of the water streaks into our hearts, washing out the illness and brightening our parts. They say the waters are healing. I shall always look to the skies, the water, and to the cold chill of a body warming in the sun baked sand overlooking the sea. Hammock and beer, and my sweet wife with me. Laughing and telling of all that will be.
Despite cloudy skies, we paddle our way. Through winding wet places, fun ahead does it lay. We tack our way true, through streams broad and narrow. For the sake of delight, our paddles kept shallow. Gushing water does spray, up into the bow. Cresting each wave, with a hoot and a howl. As the day grows long and the dark it does set. We lash our boat up and make ready our best. A spark for the fire, the kindling does set. The smoke and the heat, to ready our nest. Toes numb with cold, are brought to a boil. We eat fish and fresh things, that we found in the soil. Our beds have been prepped with all the love and care. Like nestling cubs, we retire and sky-stare.
What will await us when finally get there? Will it be fair weather or a different affair? Who will we meet once we gain the ground? Be it an ungainly beast or a cuddly hound. When we travel vast distances to find our delight, we hope that we are treated to an eyefull, despite. Treading along on this path of near folly, we sway and we dance, on toes quick made jolly. The winding path is ours, and will always be so. A straight line we’re not, squigley’s how we go! The den will be made with much laughter and joy. Supporting each other, renewing, not coy. To the forest we will go, to teach and to learn. To gather our strength and to renew our strong yearn. Our tale will be long, sun drenched and twisted. Love filled with kisses, full of intention. I love you, my dear, you fill me to the brim. When I lose my tack, my wind, it goes vapid. Your faith never ends and your glow always warms. My hands on your face, your head in my arms. May our journey be sang from the lips of the bards. Their telling of our ways, our trails, they will charm.