I’ve tethered my dreams to insubstantial things of whimsey and fluff that fly without wings wafted by winds, lifted on capricious currents, shifting, in updrafts and downdrafts, riding on warm breezy paths of possibility and chance a free-form dance. I purse my lips and blow caution to the wind.
Revised – cause there’s always room for improvement.
I’ve tethered my dreams to insubstantial things of whimsey and fluff that fly without wings. Wafted on the winds of capricious currents. Lifting in updrafts shifting in downdrafts, riding on warm breezy paths of possibility and chance. A free-form dance. I purse my lips and blow caution to the wind.
Why was she surprised to see how much it had changed? How small what remained seemed? She stopped and talked to people about her old memories of these updated places or the ones torn down.
She filled the town with a rosy glow of who she’d known and where they’d go to get a fountain Coke and listen to the jukebox cut a shine. It was bitter-sweet to stroll back the over 75 years of this was when…
but it was a happy nod she gave at the end of the day as we drove back to the present.
Took my Mom to her hometown recently. She’s 90 years old and enjoyed every minute of the trip and all the memories it brought back..
Shay’s Word Garden All of the words on this week’s List are taken from Zachary Schomburg’s book The Man Suit
The telephone doesn’t jangle anymore and the lumberjacks keep axing questions sound has not been disillusioned for there are still cellists to saw a simple tune though there is one sound that rings like a revolver shot to the heart the hollow thud of an empty mailbox at the end of the deserted street.
Like an insect flying blithely, toward a windshield, that’s the way it feels now but then, ah, then, life was a brassy affair a crazy fun house a roller coaster ride of daring and laughter.
That girl, That girl. No head all emotion. Filled with ideals, moods, poses overwhelmed with knotted longings of all my perpetual tomorrows tugging with Jupiter’s gravity and quantum promises of yet to be
That girl. That girl looking forward, not knowing, how at the end of that black hole I would be, achingly, looking back.