I’m talking about the thick air, where the heavy sun weighs down on you, engulfing you in a blanket of sweat. I’m talking about the tasteful warm breeze that soaks into your clothes and dampens your soul. You know that I mean? I mean, where what you mean to say is the right thing to say, where drinking full gulps of compassion is as simple as resting your gaze on the horizon, and where hope rests along every shore and unpaved pathway. Every highway is sideways, trees sway, and pondering on the yesterdays is okay.
I’m talking about a coastline of soothing waters, sunsets and moonshine, where the moon shines as bright as the faraway stars in the night skies, and clouds move like lovers in the bluest canopy overhead. You know, where the pace of life is just as fast as a mid-day round of golf: not fast at all. Where the porch swings can catapult you into a universe of bliss, remember this. Where you cannot dismiss company, for the pleasure from them far outweighs solitude and loneliness, for only this simple relationship drives you closer to home than you can ever imagine.
Imagine a world, a land, a city, a town, a life of simplicity. A place where you’ll never erase the true charm, the vibrate colors, the culture. Never stalked by vultures or other birds of prey; rather, blessed by angelic herons, weaving through the mist and grasses. Never in mass, but independently.
So you sit next to me. We are side by side on that wrap-around porch that is stained by salty air, wear-and-tear, tender scents and fragrances of hibiscus and magnolias, spilled joy and contentment. Where resentment is not present, and the gift of life is a present, resting atop every tabletop, rooftop, and treetop.