I drive over mountains, down valleys, watching a kaleidoscope of green, blue and white.

It’s late afternoon; my mind wanders, begins to seek the psychedelic.

Primed with sugar and coffee, I hear music that’s not on the radio. “The Girl From Ipanema” plays over and over in my mind and then I see her, this girl, who is soft and tan and young and lovely, walking to the sea, perhaps eating an orange sold by on old woman on the white sand beach.

She gazes out to the horizon as a breeze rustles her honey brown hair. I begin to be that girl. I am soft and tan and young and lovely and why not? I can be that girl. I used to be that girl, could have been that girl. I was soft and tan and young and lovely. I was mysterious, and silent, and oh so tan.

 For just a few moments, I believe I am that girl. It does not seem ridiculous to be mesmerized by the sky as I was once hypnotized by the sea. I am that girl in this moment. Time becomes a spiral vortex of wind and sand. The sea breeze memory will linger now. I will forever be that girl

a blue balloon
skims over the sea
rises with wind
I watch it bubble up
bursting with memory