Whales On the Horizon

I live in a place where home is wooden floors and the smell of plumeria, the twangs of a guitar, tinkling of a ukulele, promise of whales on the horizon. I sleep soundly with a warm blanket of Pacific stars tucked around my legs and familiar voices coming from the driveway outside, talking story. In the morning a little storm blows in, bringing the smell of ocean. I roll the windows down, a mango in my lap and two friends and a surfboard in the back. Summer is here, and I am too, island style.