Bikes and Butterflies

My bike is pretty ho-hum. Except for the double wire basket I have on the back.
The basket prompts the neighborhood kids to sing 'dunt-ta-dunt-ta-dunt-ta-dunt...dunt-ta-dunt-ta-dun.'
I laugh and call out to them, 'I'll get you my pretty and your little dog too.'
It's all in good fun. They know me to be far from the wicked witch of the west...but who can resist the teasing with those big ole baskets.
I love them though. I bike for fun, not for sport. It brings out the kid in me.
Sometimes I'll ride up to the store and tote dogfood or teabags back in those baskets.
The baskets are big enough, so that sometimes I will toss a blanket and some food and drink to take to the park.
Sometimes, I'll take it to the creek and bring it back with the baskets filled with rusty tin cans and broken glass bottles that I have found down in the water.
I love my bike just as it is...ho-hum and all.
But IF i were to customize it, I think I would give it some big butterfly wings.
They would sit upright between the two baskets, as I pedaled along, just as a real butterflies wings sit straight up when it stands.
The wings would have psychedlic cleopatra eyes on them in shades of yellow and orange, teal blue and mint green, purple, pink, white and black.
And when I parked my bike, I could lay the wings down over the baskets and have my very own traveling butterfly bistro bar...
I could meet the traveling Beach Party and The Captain next year on their bike run down by the water.

Riptide

rip·tide (-tīd′)

noun

a current opposing other currents, producing violently disturbed water; esp., the strong, narrow flow of sea water that rushes seaward after incoming waves pile up on the shore

This photo shows an early morning riptide before the high tide came in to conceal it. Riptides, such as this, caused over 170 lifeguard rescues in one day, for swimmer fatigue. Momma always told us, to get out of the pull of a riptide, swim at an angle, lest it take us away. Riptides change the shape and form of the beach & stir things up a bit.

Sometimes, in life, when we move against the current, we carry more power and strength than we know.

scribbling the peace and love

Scribbling the LoVe in the natural blond sands
periwinkles wink at me, then fall from my sight
a moment and a lifetime
of meant-to-be's, whoa-be-me's and I-still-believes
tossed together in a catch-me-if-you-can tide

So I sat... damp and sandy bottomed under the blooming sun
and soaked it all in, realizing it's not to be caught but simply taken in

The Heron trailed me, eying my bird legs and calling me Momma
Wiser than me, he knew what I was learning... again

A single handful of sand
a gazillion grains...
a drip sand castle...
a place called home which provides no shelter at all
soaking it all in, wrapping right up into it...
peace
and
love

a moment worth a lifetime
and a lifetime worth a moment

Our Time Is What We Make Of It...
500 miles to Peace ...
by the Sea

Hittin' the Road

'Down By The Sea, My Soul Will Be'
~hand-painted sign of John's

Two More Days

Barefoot Boots & Sandbar Bound...

Sister Sing and I sat on the phone to the wee hours of the night...
singing Love Songs to one another...
dreaming up the best barefoot beach boots a girl could own...
laughing until we had tears streaming down our cheeks...
making our little dreams into realities...

"some people want to fill the world with silly love songs..."

We agree.
Life is too short and...
Life is too long.

Yep, we totally agree.
We can't afford to do what we want...
but we can't afford not to.

Barefoot boots and festival dresses...
tambourines and sand dollars...
tan-lines and laugh-lines...

An island of ten days...
Escorted by the Heron...
Reminded by the Cardinal...
Gifted by the sand-dollar...
and the doves that lay inside

Peace & Love ... it is a sand-bar
and it waits there for me
for Kimbies and Sing...

Digging our toes right in...
Peace & Love...

Last One Standing & First One Down

Barefoot, with toenails painted & fingers not, sporting jogging shorts and a black sabbath tank, the dog days of summer were upon us.
The fire engine red polish winked back up at the sun, as did the wet, wavy tinsel some 30 feet below.
The iron tubing that served as the top bar on the safety railing was as hot as an iron skillet ready for batter.
With both arms behind me, I gripped the bar with one hand, then the other. Playing hot potato.
'David did it.'
'Yeah, so did Will. He said it was fun.'
'A lot of people have done it.'
'I heard it's a rush man.'
'Are you gonna do it?'
'Yeah, I'll probably go for it....you?'
'I don't know...looks pretty scary.'
I say nothing and notice that the iron tube seems to be cooling under my palms.
A 1965 white T-bird convertible pulls up and Billy bellows out...
'Skinny! What the phuck are you doing?!'
'Just hanging out'
A horn honks...pulling away, Billy barks 'Hang on! Lemme park this beast.'
Before he can run up the incline of the bridge, a 79 Spyder comes driving past.
It's Steve.
Steve who is 3 years older than me.
Steve who has delicious blue eyes that seem to dance when I'm around.
Steve who surfs & smokes pot & makes me stomach do flips.
Steve who bangs a U-turn when he sees me.
Steve who came back around and stops just in time to see Tracey pull my jogging shorts down to my ankles.
Steve who saw me instinctively let go off both bars to pull my bottoms back up.
Steve who saw me do what no one else there had done.
Plunge 30' feet down off the bridge and into the open salty waters below.

Sometimes...in life, if we don't jump or get pushed, we simply fall to where we are meant to be.
'Last One Standing' Outsider Hippie Art By Sister Singleton

Happy Independence Day & To All A Good Night

Time brings change...we all know that. As I sat on the shores of the Atlantic, Mother Nature displayed this beautifully for me, as evidenced by pics below...

Peace & Love People...Capture Each Moment For Whatever It May Be Worth

Seashells & Mermaids Growing Up

When I was a kid at the beach, I liked to lay with my head in the still moist, shimmering like diamond dust sand, one ear against the ground with my feet in the lapping, sometimes yellow & sometimes green sea foam.
Laying there, I felt like I could hear the heartbeat of the ocean.I felt free to do nothing, but soak it all in.
I 'd see how long I could just lay there before the sea foam starting tickling the side of my face & threatened to splash my eyes with salt water. Sometimes I'd just close my down-side eye and allow Mother Nature to tickle me with ribbons of water, other times I would scooch with the changing tide.

Laying there, I would let my imagination run wild.
I would daydream about desolate beaches...
about the Florida beaches before white man came...
about beaches where horses ran free...
about glass houses underneath the water...
about Atlantis in the Atlantic out my backdoor...
about being small enough to ride a seahorse...
about Chicken of the Sea labels...
about being saved from tragedy by a great octopus...
about Great Whites giving me water park rides...
about mermaids and about being a mermaid...
about what type of seashell I would want to live in if I was a little mermaid.

I always thought conchs would be better than the typical clam shells. Granted clam shells can close tight & one could sleep soundly & safely there. But the interior swell of the conch would provide natural pillow and the exterior would be like a form fitted blanket. Besides with my feet tucked deep within the conch, I could stay closer to all the action, ready to climb on out ...kinda like sleeping with the door opened.

Even in my sleep, I never wanted to miss a beat.