Florida

Hot August. I am here again
The salt sea smell in the humid air
The tang of the taste on my mouth and hair
The wet, wild warmth of the sea.

We came to the sea this morning, we three
Hot August... my mind runs back a ways
To an earlier time of vagabond days
When we wandered here, we two.

Placeless and searching we wandered here
Miles and miles of road at our back
A pile of belongings done up in a pack
Meals by the side of the road.

The night was dark 'though the moon was high
When we smelled that first tang of salt in the air.
The white sand was fine as a baby's hair
Beneath our feet where we stood.

We tried to sleep there side by side
But the moon shone gold and the waves were wild,
Happiness came like a wide-eyed child
It kept us awake where we lay.

Hot August, water, sun and sky.
Mile after mile with the car window down
Scrub palmetto, obscure little town.
Our minds over-run with thought.

A jar full of pencils, some canvas board
We made our living here and there;
The joy of freedom was everywhere,
So we lived in that joy for awhile.

Mango stands by the side of the road.
Three hundred dollars between us two,
We slept in the car when the rain came through
(After washing our hair in the rain.)

Through white-hot days, hot, sultry nights
Wet, salty bodies; now it seems
We made a home, a land of dreams
On dusty road through starry nights.

Those happy days my mind has saved
We were placeless, the freer to roam.
No permanent ties yet, no real home.
Life was easy, without any cares.

Once, when the sun brought drowsy thoughts:
"Where are we going and how shall we live?
Is there anything new we believe we can give?"
We mused, and the tide drifted in.

We had nothing, we knew, but our own little lives.
"Our thoughts are our only possessions" said I
"Our thoughts, ourselves, and the blue summer sky.
So let's just be happy today."

Then you smiled at me and we laughed because
Life was a thing to be laughed at then.
The clouds were high and fine and thin
And the sun was a patch of gold.

Now with place and belongings and half-fulfilled dreams
Still our thoughts seem the dearest possessions we own
For the vagabond days are a happiness sown
That have grown up around us a bright field of dreams.

Our roving days taught us well, I suppose,
That happiness come from the little things
Like nights, sweet nights, when the cricket sings.
Slow days, slower nights, happy smiles.

Hot August, we are here again.
Same salt smell in the humid air
Your wet face, and my wet hair
And our baby plays in the tide.