Coffee.
Window watching.
Staring.
Seeing.
Always coffee first.
Sunshine. I see sunshine.
My eyes and brain and spirit
are very happy.
I go to the nearest chair
on my quasi-porch
and slowly absorb the coffee.
Ah hah,
I am ready:
messy red sneakers
and happy socks,
whooshy pants,
and a bright pink tank top.
I’m going to my version of heaven,
an island
still underdeveloped enough
to be magical.
I know it won’t be long
before it’s buried under the selfishness
of people,
so I put in all the time I can get.

I drive the bridge at illegal speeds
and sincerely hope
the State Patrol is nowhere
near me.
I notice other cars
and wonder if the passengers
will run over my spirit
by getting off at my island.

Well far out,
they keep going
and I’m the only car heading to the gates.
Used to be a state park. Now Real estate.
Good Real estate.
Still gated.
Good real estate.
Getting pricier.
Good real estate.
I have a sticker on my windshield,
so the gates part for me,
like I’m Moses at the Red Sea.
I drive
carefully;
State Patrol is everywhere
on this side of the gate.
They even have a building and parking spaces
near my first stop, the ladies’ bathroom.
Door slam #1.
Now, more able to drive carefully,
very carefully. SP everywhere.
Left turn into the historic district.
Yay, parking space.
Door slam #2.
Keys attached to the medallion around my neck.
Yay, I’m free.

I walk through the commercial area,
with the signs and stores
and quick cafes and outdoor
seating and price signs
everywhere.
Rabbits, squirrels, and I.
No people yet. (I’m not people.
I’m a leaf.
I’m a squirrel.
I’m the air.
Spanish Moss.)
No people. Yaaaay.)
I walk.
Small breezes pat my face,
fluff up my hair,
blow out my whooshy pants.
I shuffle along.
No people. Too early.
I walk.
I hear me breathe.
I walk.

I smile.
I watch the waves
dance in and out
and hear them bark at me,
welcoming me
as long as I don’t talk back.
I don’t. They carry on.
I hear seagulls.
I walk.
I see trees.
They see me.
Oh no, a human coming at me
from the opposite direction.
Yay. A non-chatty one.
A brief-waver. A smiler.
A me-form.
And we pass.
I walk.
I sniff.
I walk,
I stare and smile. I walk
I walk until I realize
I’m sweating
and thirsty
and sweating
smiling.
I find the water.
Walk. Walk.
Smile. Sniff.
Part human, part dog.
A friendly labradoodle thinks we’re family.
Owner is not pleased.
I smile and move on.
Dog wants to continue talking
so I wave. Owner waves.
Dog smiles. Dog gets it.

I finish my travels
as the hotel-stayers
and visitors
and locals
decide it’s time for breakfast
and begin to make too much noise,
so I find Luther, (the car)
and put on The Grateful Dead,
open the sunroof and
say goodbye to the family
and let them know
that, like Arnold Schwarzenegger,
I’ll be back,
whether they like it or not.
Like family.

Dog and I say so.