The morning time is a most welcome sight and we’re down to the docks for a swim. Soak your bones in the water before the boats start roaring, and they take all the people from here. Barefoot and wet feet, dripping ocean on the street; dry your face in the summer’s light wind. Bend your elbows on an old wall from hundreds of years old and have a look at those ships rolling in. They’re bringing our news and bringing our food but we’ve nothing to do and plenty of time to do it in, so It’s more crucial to get down to the beach. If that’s as busy as the day gets, I’ll put on a straw hat and torn jeans… and I’ll go drifting off to sleep. If we time our walk right we’ll land in to Joe Watty by daylight, when there’s music under the shade of a tree, and I’ll regail some of my younger selfs dreams. The rubber bicycle wheels will stop with a screech, on the dry stones to hear tunes reared on the sounds of the sea.

I hear Lakes of Pontartchrain, about a man on a train, during a whimsical, musical afternoon. Eyes closed in the sun and guitars in your ears; become Huckleberry Finn in a dream. In a torn blue jeans, with a straw ‘tween the teeth, sailing on a wood piece down the long Mississipi, from the Yellowstone Bison, to Alabama and New Orleans; and, sing with the Grizzlies you meet on the way, proclaim: “Me, I’m at nothing just drinking some honey, I’m the best kind of happy ’cause I aint got no money, what a wonderful way to waste time, sipping on that sweet wine, that’s soothing me softly and it gets so much better, flip flopping along in that beautiful weather.”

I’ve walked through the night time too many times to be afraid of the dark or the grim; so at midnight bad creatures come up from the sea, but my darlin’ that means nothing to me. The songs they don’t change by day or by age, only the people who sing. I’d build a treehouse in an Oak, to climb higher to Heaven just to find if they know secrets we don’t. These birds in the wind and these leaves in the breeze rise to the sky to the west then the east. It’s a beautiful muse, roaming wherever you choose, only it’s perfect where you stand right now. The mist in the evening, comes over the fields and It’s time to call the young people in. Down tools for a meal, rest your hands for a story, until it’s time for the docks and a swim.

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