It's raining Christmas, karma, and kindred spirits.....

I pedaled my new- Old little bike to the Marina Post office....in search of some hummingbird spouts... we ordered them for the vintage soda bottles we found on the side of the road.... Feeders for our souls, and the tiny little winged spirits that flutter past us, around us, between us..... and then I did my usual spin...trip...up the steps...."How are you? and  "Fine, just fine, and how's your wife doing these days, and the dog, and the flowers you planted in the spring?"  Another blessed everyday moment in this Gift of Life.....

The tiny little box of spouts was waiting for me.  The cardboard box swathed in tape, and little birds stamped on the outside.  I smiled hugely.   And next to it... Another box.   Sharon smiled, and pushed it towards me.  "Merry Christmas"......she whispered..... How the hell she knew, I'll never know.... but....

She was right.  A gift of love, of sharing, of embracing, of dancing in a Moon Circle....was wrapped tightly in the decorated, stamped, addressed to ME  box, and when I opened it, nestled in paisley tissue paper,  A River of Friendship, of Old Souls spilled out..... The box was filled with a thousand trinkets touched by fate and fortune.... and more.....

It was filled with Love.....

Thank you Kelly .... hugely....

For reaching out...with the words and the arms of  a forever friend....

Merry Hippie Christmas.....Thank you for painting my world, our world, the forever world with the random Wild Love that makes this world the one that we cherish living in.  Peace~love, good, good vibes......

PS:  Yup, those are both my brand new ones:)  And yeah, they totally rock!

Will work for Peace.....for Love....for Beer....

It's raining.  Lazy rain.  It doesn't splash when it hits the pavement, it just sits there.  Making mud puddles the perfect size for tadpoles.  And daydreams.

I spend the morning sewing prayer flags on my rickety Singer at the kitchen table, Isadora in the windowsill, watching for the  sunshine.  And Him.  Waiting on the rattle tattle sound of his stickered up bicycle, clinking, clanking up to the house.  My little Hippie Maintenance Man peddling home for lunch, and later, for the night. For a beer.  To our crazy simple life. 

Funny, how less is so very much Better.....

My Little Gypsy Butterfly....

The room is quiet....the occasional sound of the Cuckoo's Nest behind the door....on the other side...and the whispering on the inside.  Mama speaks in another tongue, endless sentences macrame~ed together by her little fingers flying, kneading, pointing, reaching, touching ours....and we lean closer and listen.....every now and then gathering familiar words like heart shaped rocks, clinging to them like sentimental souvenirs. 

She cries.  Frets.  And talks to faces only she can see, spirits in the corners...And we shoo them like dusty cobwebs, because she's not ready, and they're dancing in our dirty laundry, stirring up too many memories or make~believes or gonna~be's.  They can join the parade later, but not today....

Today we're butterflies....
and we're gonna rest.  Flutter our wings every now and then, just a teensy tiny bit, and snuggle in a little closer....
When she's ready to fly....
She won't even need these silly ole wings....

She'll be Gypsy free.....

The Butterfly Effect

It rained.

From the sky...
a gabillion drops free falling, prancing like wild horses on my tin~can metal roof...
and  then leaping into sudden death...
or freedom...
flying face first into the muddy earth....
and tumbling wildly downhill
to the river....

Monsoons....

I took a shower.

Steadied my hand on the make-shift rail,  leaned up against the vintage vinyl and stood under the warm waterfall....
Crying.....

Maybe wailing.....

It 's the seven o'clock sadness....
It just happens...

Each new day is a gift...
and a Mountain....
and for just a moment,
I have weak knees...
the fleeting moment after you've been cold cocked, but just  before you stand up again,
spit blood,
and say "I'm OK".......

I should have known she'd be here...
     the encore after my hissy fit.....


The yellow Butterfly....
   

      reminding me

 to Believe.....

The Twisted Trip to here......

We tripped over tree roots....Their sprawling, snaking, climbing age old fingers pointing into  the woods...
and stumbled one step, two steps deeper into the peace...
Just the sound of water bubbling, running, falling...
and sticks breaking under our steps....


I breathe differently now....deep...and slow and on purpose....

Because every moment matters....

And in the midst of insane chaos....
my body a war field...
my mind on fire....

I feel the presence of the reason.... I can't name it, touch it, explain it....but I know somehow, I was meant to come here...
to fall,...
to tumble....
blindly
into this crazy 
wrecking ball...

It must be the butterflies....

Spirit Finder

I rode my bike in dusty circles,
sliding on loose gravel,
watching the pebbles fly and skip,
imagining them to be butterflies....
plunking,
hopping,
little winged frogs...... waiting to be free....
And
I listened to you ramble on.....and on...

"Do you want to go Blues Night?,
to a steakhouse?,
on a supply run?,
to the Beach?,
do you want to go anywhere anyone has ever named?"
And
I don't.....

I slammed on the brakes
and twisted just far enough to the left
to show off....
and slide...
and slip off...
and almost crash
until I laughed....

And started to ride again...
into the wind...
and around the corner,
and almost to the river
and back again....

And I grabbed my little pink fishing pole,
and a beer and some velveeta cheese
and
plopped down at the River....
to hook a lilly pad,
a pile of drunken peace signs and waves from a passing pontoon,
and a nod from the captain of a cigarette boat on idle....

Because this is why I came here...

For peace....

and my spirit....

And I've found it...

And We Painted the sky......

They dipped the socks into the paintbucket,
pudgy little fingers stirring wildly with
the spirit stick....
Making mud the color of a thousand eyes....
And
when we flipped the bucket upside down and a dozen psychedelic snakes slipped out....
Their laughter rocked my world.

And I knew.... 
This is the music the God's listen to....

The Sky and the clothesline on a sweet Summer evening, tye dying  with little ones at the river.....

RIP Rumors

I drive by in the dusty five o'clock traffic and I don't see the sign...feel the vibe...hear the loudness of the forever quietness, but something snatches a knot in my soul....
and I feel it....
the empty parking lot ....
the now and forever..
the endings of our fancy little bar stories....

I fell in love here...
in knee high boots dancing to Eric Clapton,
blowing balletic smoke rings from filtered cigarettes....
and believing in fairy tales....
and the twang of a lover's make believe serenade....

I broke an ankle here...
jumping jack flash fast to the Rolling Stones,
and smiling
on the downslide...

I  buried a friend here...
Hugging strangers, and selling laughter for dollar donations to bury her in decent blankets and eulogies that  dance on...

I believed here...

And I still believe....
   in the music...
   the moment...
   the magic...
   the magpie fairies...

      It's just that the train has changed tracks...

Can you see me now?

Clink....
You're standing on my doorstep...
January rain dripping down your nose...
And I'm
almost surprised,
and not at all,
at your totally o~kay~ness with just parachuting right back into my world
unexpected and
half a dozen years older.......
I offer you coffee and you'd rather a beer....
and I know then what I knew all along....

You're more fun after 5 o'clock....
And in my imagination....

But, I see you now.....

Words and artwork (C) Singleton

Spooky little Blues Cruise

We drifted....teetering a little to the left, a little upstream, or maybe down, and thicker into the Swamp.  Eyeballs everywhere.  Giant beak nosed vultures, 1000 years old I'm sure, sat perched at Sentinel Guard, staring down at us....Waiting.  Their beady little eyes darting.  Giving us the once over, in case we suddenly became just stiff enough to gobble up. 

The banks of this river breathe....and in the quiet...an impromptu drum circle begins....twigs snapping in rhythm, the footsteps of faieries or Big Foot, I'm not sure,  dancing....in the forest...the laughter of strangers deep in the woods, the low and thunderous groan of the Gator King....his rheumy eyes cast low, and his crooked smile....slurping up the tepid still waters...waiting...

We turn up the radio, just a little bit, Luther Vandross for the soul....

And still, we can hear the banjo's....

Coffee with one sugar and all my Dreams

It's early morning....
and the sky sits low,
crawling just above the ground...
gray and damp,
wheezing like an old dog
curled on his muddy backdoor  rug....

And yet, it's delightful.  Something about it is Old Soul.  Comfortable.  Familiar.

The Blue skies of tomorrow are being painted in a secret room above the clouds, and the wild winds of yesterday are parked in the corner....hung over from their willful misbehaviour last night.

Today is Peace.

I park my crickety old self on the park bench and sip coffee in the quiet just outside my door.  I breathe better here....

Under the simple skies....

Words and artwork (c) Singleton 2013 Coffee table courtesty of Merle, green and splattered in machine oil.... just waiting for me to tattoo the spirit of the river smack on it's ruddy surface:)  Thank you, new friend!

The Porch Party and other floating fairytales

I peek out the little aluminum door at sunrise....watch for wayward wild animals, slithering snakes, strangers....and then barrel out into the morning... Two black pups...nose to the ground....send me flying past curtain number one, two, three..... of fog, leaping over little foothills, make believe bridges, potholes...and into the damp darkness of morning on the river.... To Paradise.... To the sun rising over the muddy water.... To the lazy ripple of old water stretching, rolling over one more time before it has to rise.... And then finally, home again... To This... To Peace Porch and the promise of another Day....

Pass the Peace and Prayers, please...

I string tiny prayer flags, a kaleidescope of colors, across the morning windows....a reminder to believe, to see, to remember, to be thankful, to imagine, to pray, to be at peace.....And when the sun shines through, their tattered colors dance across my dirty floors...And I embrace another accidental gift...

This is it....the end of the year I will forever embrace....and the beginning of the one I was sure I would only imagine....

I've heard tell~tell that how you bring in the New Year is how you'll spend it...and I peek outside for a moment and smile at the tilted moon, quietly applaud the fireworks in a not too far distance, and  hum a little Johnny as the old boxcar rolls down the tracks, for just a moment, snuffing out everything but memories and my imagination....

I look down and the hemline of my flannel PJ's are muddy...proof that a river really is in my backyard and that no matter how many times I wander there, I have to touch the very edge .....have to feel the faint ripple of at least one wayward wake...before I turn around and head for home again...

I might not make it to midnight....
I won't tear up the dance floor....
trip in my high heels on the way out the door...
No, I won't  be Cinderella...this year.....

But if I fall asleep in Peace, and wake up to the River running.....
I have a feeling,
my year will be very, very Blessed....

May yours, too.....
Be the Gift....

The Tin Can Parade

The water is shallow tonight.  Muddy and almost warm, snaking by in slow motion..... And the edge of the sky sways a little....just above the dark forest of skinny little cypress witch fingers....their knotted hands waving.....

It's a spooky little night...

And a good one....

At dark....one by one, the endless strands of lights connect...the electric colors pop, flash, glow and the tiny little tin-can houses dotting the water begin to dance.....a cobweb of extension cords joins neighbor to neighbor, sign post to street lamp....and if you listen....
on this silent night.....
you'll hear the the merry "clink" of wine glass to Beer Bottle....
and sleighbells....
in the sky...
or
in my little hippie imagination....

Merry Christmas!  May the Gift be the moment.....the peace...the love....And may the Circle be unbroken....

The Colors of Peace

And so I flew barefooted
over the loose gravel and down the damp embankment
to the muddy edge
of Peace.....

Fat ducks waddling before me,
and wet dogs .... nose to the ground and tails to the sky...
trailing behind me....

This is Home now....
where the sky is wet watercolor paper....
soaking up our moods,
our stories,
our fate,
and casting it into eternity...
a technicolor drive-in movie splashing before  us...
The colors of now.....

Yes, this is Home now...

Where the bugs have tiny motorboat engines for hearts
and the snakes are bigger than make believe....
where our little glass houses are cellophane tents
and our twisted stories are peppermints.
little party favors for the passing....

I click the camera...
savor the captured wild sky one more time....

And remember....

Every day is the Gift....

And this one is mine......

May your sky be as blessed....

The Afterglow......

I stand at the dirty edge of this tin~can Paradise
and breathe differently than I have in forever,
or maybe ever before.....

I'm free....

And the river flows north.....
to the Sea....

Take me to the River

I made a little list of pros and cons....
in Giant Sharpie letters
and taped it with Scotch tape to the refrigerator....
and my Brain while I slept.....
I scribbled  it again on the back of envelopes in the car....
     in Traffic......
Like The Haunting....

I babbled it into the friendly ears and eyes of
my buddy at the bar,
my Sister Loves,
my children...
Strangers at the post office....

And then I decided....

I'm doing it....

Moving into a little gypsy house on wheels...
on the River....
the running water....
the setting sun....

The Hope....

I'll have to take two steps UP to grab a cold beer....

And one step out my only door to be in Paradise.....

I don't know why I didn't think of this sooner.....

Packing.....up.....

Team Peace and Team Colors...Corn Hole Boards.....
A few stepping  stones from 2001...concrete mixed in a kitty litter bucket and patina painted in the Florida Sun....
Moon Pies Garden Gate....graffitied and tattooed and hinged to swing with our moods.....
A record player and the five albums from after the Hurricanes....
Greg Allman.....Donovan....Charlie Rich....Johnny Cash...and the Allman Brothers....
Two pairs of cowboy boots,
two black Love dogs, a Siamese Cat named Deja and Isadora....the queen of all Felines....
3 psychedelic Samsonite suitcases stuffed with photos.....
Cheetos....
Two pairs of converse sneakers and a pink piggy bank....
a gazing ball...
a bird bath...
Granny Laniers bed and Nana's bamboo bar.......
Some Love Letters....
Three nude mannequins tattooed....
a cell phone charger...
a frying pan,
2 pairs of levi cut-offs,
2 travel toothbrushes, a crock pot, two Margarita glasses, 6 shot glasses, and a new pack of Solo cups.....
A Tent, 7 strings of prayer flags, a cot, and two coleman coolers.....
The Spirit of the Suwanne....the St. Johns....and the waves of New Smyrna....
The Memories....of mudpies....and Moonpie....and Martini Moons...and Rumors....
The Maybes, the wannabes, the I believes.....

Our Souls....

For everything else there's yesterday....And all those other happy endings....

We're running off to tomorrow......