A Monterey Summer day….
The poet sat alone drinking his coffee near the Monterey Bay. He was 35 years old and he felt like he had lived five lifetimes. The soldiers in his unit, they called him the old man.
He loved Monterey. In the past 14 months, he left Michigan, went to war and now he was blessed by the Pacific ocean near. He loved the lively small city, filled with musicians, writers, painters, crafters and poets. Old Monterey was one of Hemingway hangouts and he could feel the spirit of Hemingway, still in the taverns, by the sea. He loved the song of the sea-life singing day and night, their song to the sea and to their love. He was waiting for Bernadette. She was a fair-skin woman who drawn the tourist faces for cash. She painted Big Sur and Monterey for pleasure and profit. She was a herbalist…
View original post 725 more words