Under the Sun

Under the sun I'm clean.  Nothing to regret, nothing to need.  Pitching a tent, setting up camp when there's a cooler of beer and a rod and reel waiting is easy work.  Sometimes I'm near the water because the pavement of the city is too raw and I'm sandblasted by the savage within. The savage in me needs the silence of Mother Nature, the slowing down of Father Time. Staying under the stars, living out in the wind and sun, provides comfort.    The canoe cuts the water smooth as silk, soft and soundless.  I squat on a rock just to watch the water pass me by.  No one after me, no one running away. I would gladly live on that island in the middle of the river, hide behind the trees when anyone came near.  Before long I would miss my guitar, my Wii, the comfort of my bed.  Don't want to party every night,  don't need to howl at the moon nearly as often as I once did.  After one week of camping, the absence of you calls me back to the pavement.  I can leave without looking back.