Over the bridge

Gone. Packed up, on the road. It didn't seem too bad. Until I arrived back to my life. Yard overgrown, refrigerator empty and a layer of dust and cobwebs covering most surfaces. How does Jim live here and not see?
I miss the sound of the pines cradling the house in the morning breeze. I miss waking up to put on a pot of coffee, stand at my door and survey the day. I miss my beach walk and painting on the patio. I miss my bottle of red wine!
Over the bridge I went, back to the mundane, the everyday existence which I must endure till the seasons change once more and release me.
I have the beach in my head as K.B. keeps. The way the mist comes off the water, curls up the dunes and rolls back upon the sand, waiting to be burned off by mid-morning. The hot sand on my toes, the sound of the rocks lazily rolling under the waves. The way the seals poke their heads up and follow my progress. I have the sun on my back, although in reality my toes and fingers are chilled here at home. Fall is waiting it's turn.
Tomorrow will be worse. Back to work. The first few days of meeting new people, new assignments and students can be exciting, but then it wears off and become the Job.
My summer life has started to fade, as the warm days of laconic strolls to the treasure have. The cool mists of Wellfleet have begun to be replaced by the even crisper air of Gospel Hill. The scent of farm, apples ripening and buses collecting their charges.
Time to re-charge and put on my bright face.