You can hear the sound of this machine working – you know you can – if you’re as old as me, and grew up in a small Midwestern town, she was an occasional reality. We heard about newfangled ways of serving others, but what we had was good enough. We understood how to fix her, simple trial and error, no fuss or awkward searching – some days a little pat on the bottom, or the sweet whisper of, “come on baby” and she’d spring to life. I smile because she was a dinosaur in the 80s, yet we were proud. Seems there is still plenty of good happening right here, if you’ll allow it.
when gathering for granddad’s funeral no one’s vehicle tires turned into the yard similarly. even gravel sounded different as folks drove in and chose a place to park. the earth where his brown Ford pickup had been parked for nearly 70 years – until Uncle drove it away – had grass growing again, but had for nearly fifteen years, I suppose. I wonder if I’m the only one who noticed. I never asked.
who we are is decided yet ever flowing, correct? be the breeze; gentle and free be steadfast in image, thought and deeds, I see you, Mr. Redbird, I see you watching me among the debris. Your tweet insists following or even a reminder you’re near, but most of all its a sign I do know love, and hello new year.
Where did my thoughts go Back burner, they’d disclose Who chased me away A silly dream, I’d say How come I’m quiet Learning my place, but I digress What’s the plan To heal and begin again, I guess When will you emerge Today.