Down the Mountain

Down the pine-studded mountain and towards the sea Me, mounted on a rickety, swaying, desperately-desiring bus, Floorboard splotched with rusted holes revealing tires Below my feet and salted sea wind soon Breathing down my neck. The Luzon day stretched before me, road Singing in it's curves drowning out Philippine faces painting Collages of colors and years. Revealing Spanish lighthouses beckoning Lost souls and Galleons Scattering gold onto ivory shores. One hour later, Nerves frayed from endless bumps, I tumble onto the palm-fringed beach to Witness Waves cresting like glittering Champagne and a Delicately worn grandmother being Gingerly dipped into the Azure Softness like a Queen Cat in a Cherub's cradle.