SUMMER: OF PROSPECTS AND RETROSPECTS

I walked past and underneath this giant canopy until I was standing by this charming little bridge, looking over this creek and wondering how fast the current was going. "We're doing two knots, cap'n!", I imagined myself 30 years younger, giving my maritime baloney to the chief pirate raised and bred this side of Sawyer's Mississippi. But the flow of the current snapped me back to the exigencies of my present. Current. Present.

I was actually scouting for a film location that has these in proximity: old growth trees lined up on both sides of the street with heavy foliage and a quaint bridge over a narrow river, (or creek or canal) with a steady stream. I took my phone and started looking for my friend's number - this same friend who graduated from film school and was now ambitiously aiming to do a short for an entry to "Telluride or something". Suddenly I felt for the place and became undeniably selfish, for once, for that reason. The scene in this neighborhood seemed so serene and secretive; I was not going to corrupt it for the sake of artistic hodgepodge. Telluride or something, my ass.

And this was yesterday, Memorial Day, the unofficial start of summer which technically will not begin until 22 days from today. For my friend I was not in the beach for a cold beer or a hot chick, but if he called I'll tell him, sorry man, I was at the beach, having a cold beer, being had by a hot chick.

As I prepared to leave my own charming secret, Eddie Vedder continued to softly play for my ear, Off He Goes, and nowhere did his voice resemble Springsteen more closely than in this song, almost mumbling like a ventriloquist.

Sing to my ear and transport me to this place everytime, boy.

Ahhh, summer.

(to be continued)