The Western Sky

The western sky

Been watching the sun set over that distant horizon for as long as I can remember.
It’s the surfers life, chasing the sun till it tires, a match struck, the fire lit. A transistor playing California Girls, tipping back an Oly, listening to the fire crackle, watching the flames dance and fade in the cobalt above.
Soon the fire dwindles down in the cool breeze, us young gentlemen we walk the girls back to their camps, so their parents won’t come looking for them later. Rack the boards on top of the old ’57’ while the radio plays it’s tunes on the old Chevy’s front fender, Johnny Rivers singing Going Back to Big Sur, the pup tent waits on my climbing in.
Cape Lookout and the Blue-Gill Monster are quiet now, as are the other travelers of the road, the Gypsy’s of the 101, most stopped there for the beach, the sand, and rest from the drive in from Somewhere U.S.A.. For us surfers, it was a different story, it was the beach and the girls alright; but most of all, it was the waves.
Turn the transistor off and close my eyes, rest my head on my pillow, on the other side of the berm, the waves sing my lullabies; one after the other till the morning light streams in through the trees.
Such an early morning hour, chillbumps under the wetsuit, an early session between me God and my search for the mornings perfect wave, the paddle out, aqua serenity of time and space.
Ah the time and space continuum, no rocket science here, age creeps ever so slow, still the same surfer boy inside the gray hues of age and worn skin, the proper sunset not yet seen, still more sunsets to be had.
Decades pass, year in and year out, still searching the distant edge of the sea, bathed in tranquil shades of lavender, reds and yellows.
Then one night it happened, forty years in the making, in this earthly existence, a momentary snippet of the never-ending story being written in my soul, one small page in the life, one fleeting memory made to last and to be shared for our eternity together.
There you were, the sunset your backdrop, throwing sticks for our companion, we had seen sunsets before, along the central coast below the artichoke and brussel sprouts that fill the farmers fields above the ragged edge. We would stop and wait, set up the tripod, check the camera, see what’s left in the cooler. But this time God painted the sky just for us, no camera, no tripod, yet it’s one of most beautiful pictures that will ever fill my back pages.
Of all the years that pass in a person’s life, all the miles of travel, of the lives we live that are filled separate and together, the before and after’s that created the future. The words ‘we were meant to be’ seem so over used and spent by the romance novel’s and one night stand’s that so many hold dear.
My Love you are a beautiful Lady, you were before our first meeting; you certainly are still. Somehow inside I knew the outcome of the feelings we shared, to our credit, we threw away the romantic novelist thoughts of romance and love, we viewed them as decades old rubbish that wouldn’t fill the belly if you ate the paper; rather we fed our souls to the rim, with the love we shared together.
Sometimes the soul gets the shorter end of loves stick, people toss the crumbs of life between the sheets, oh how they call it love; till that day when life is nothing more than occupying the lonely moments of time. We all know the day comes, looks dwindle, the skin wrinkles, health fails; we laugh at the old men in front of the barber shop, and the old ladies in the market, our momentary immortality of youth. But the soul, filling it with more than crumbs, we fed the soul you and I, and somehow we knew it was right. Somewhere inside we knew that only in our souls would we stay forever young, only in our souls would we see eternitys Grace, it’s welcoming gate.
Through the years we fed our souls, never a day or a moment did I see your age above my aching bones, always the most beautiful keeper of my heart. We would see the old lovers, in their gray hues of age, holding each moment together as if it was their last; for the young, they should be tapping the wisdom of the old like they do their keg. We looked at them fondly, growing old with you was never a question, still the young beautiful Lady that shined from the inside out, the same beautiful Lady that stole my vision and my time with every good morning I love you.
My last breath I would give to you, gladly if it meant we would watch another sunset together, hold each other once more, wear out two dozen rocking chairs made for two and a front porch; together. Everyone says, the first breath is equal to the last if you have lived right, if the love you gave and received was honest and full. If there were a way, if there were a method, with our last kiss, our last embrace; how I wish I could have given you my last breath. Till that day, when our day once more will come, and our eternity will be evident of our love; know well that I love you more than my last breath.
As I lay my head on my pillow, the star lit night sky looming in through the window, I say Goodnight I Love You, giving thought to the heavens and the stars, knowing what the nonbelievers only wish they knew.

Star bright, star light, first star I see tonight, what a beautiful sight. Wish I may, wish I might, oh Lord do I wish I might tonight. Lord, you have them now, three souls so beautiful, standing there at the distant edge of the sea, waiting patiently for me. Let me hold them tight in the distant light, point the tip of my board west and paddle out, all the way to where the sun dips low in the dusky hues that separates the greens and blues of the Pacific from the cobalt sky above.
Yes there is a heaven, and if there is a heaven, then there must be God!

If I said this was about the Love of my life and I, someone would question the reality of what you have just read, so I have to say, don’t ask that question of me as I am not here trying to convince or change you; certainty not for the worst anyway. So if it is to be questioned, and you are in love, then ask yourself this: if it’s not about the author, then is it about Me and the Love of My life? If the answer is yes, then absorb every second of your love together, don’t follow the world opinion of the meaning of love, tell the truth and be yourself; as life has a way of going quick enough here on this dusty orb, it would be a shame to miss an honest love.

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