Like a river, going to the sea.

Like a river, going to the sea…

I am following the moving river and I can smell the sea in the air. I decided I was a prisoner in a mess-up prison. I needed quiet and I needed the ocean. I carry in my back-pack. Jack London book, “When Gods laugh” and Hemingway “A moveable feast”. I also carried my chess board and  bottles of Black Velvet. A tent and sleeping bag also.
I found Big Sur and I walked the path to Pfeiffer beach. Holy place for writers, musicians and painters. I decided to write my novel. Big Sur, an land touched by God. The sea, stormy, beautiful and dangerous. A Jack Kerouac nightmare and my place of peace.
The days are warm and the night can be chilly. It is okay. The Black Velvet whiskey will keep me warm in the night and the restaurant at the River Inn. Keep my belly filled.
I befriended many. Many people with Gypsy souls. Don’t need fancy cars and large houses. Just need to be sun-kissed by the sun and the sea near. Many musicians and writer find me daily. They bring me coffee and we discuss everything, not important. We play the game of chess. Share laughter.
I tell the kids. Have fun, work less. Can’t take money with you in death. The kids are cool. They never win the chess game and they love to talk. I followed the river to the sea.
Please come and visit the Dark Poet. He had found the salvation of the dancing sea.