WEIRD AND WOLFIE HIT CALIFORNIA

WEIRD AND WOLFIE HIT CALIFORNIA.
 

We're in a beat up van heading West, windows open, hair wildly dancing.

It's 1969 we hit California at the end of August, the people are not walking, they're prancing.

To us, a small town couple, it's a life the like of which we've never seen

but here in California it's like everything is played out on a screen.

We find a campsite near the beach, we've never been this far West before.

For us it is like we aren't gently opening, rather are we kicking down a door.

It's all so wild, so free, rough but inviting at the same time

and, along with Weird, I think this represents the perfection of nature's design.

The spray hangs in the air like little flakes of snow.

Droplets fall onto our exposed skin as we feel our inhibitions go.

The presence of others no longer holds us back from showing our love.

Skin that tastes of salt, the magic of the sea and the sand is enough

to entice me into the cascading, marauding waves.

I power through them, arms slicing through the surf like blades.

That night, around the campfire, I wonder how much there is about Weird I don't yet know

but right now, on the beach, all that matters is that I love her so.