Seems like a dream...

Seems like a dream, those days not long since past. Now I feel the tingling skin and cool salt spray as nights spent on beaches and waves crashing too close to the old valiant wagon, my home...

Mentors and muse

I never wrote a word until...

With bike and boat I went. A small wooden craft perched upon my small French car with mountain bike a cherry. A sight to see, my float and me, as I board the ship for distant shores.

I met some friends, an artist he and woman she, I stayed there in their family's keep, while went they did away. Serene I found a artist home, and wanting not of outside bid. Till upon return of new found mentor friends a home to find, I did.

The shore was fair a friend to call me to it's side. So found, did I, a larger keep on wheels, to suit my need and rest upon the shore.

"Old Log, Old Log." I called my keep, the 60's Volvo wagon valiant green. To work I went, and to the woods each day I rode alone and in the evening dark my feet did tread upon the forest floor. For many hours and more miles did I but sit and stroll and ponder on the wonder of the woods and dripping from the trees a mist that only morning sparrows find.

For in the depth of woods, and keeping up till morning sun does rise, by candle light, did I but write of mystery deep, till I exhausted fell asleep.