Day 65
“Turned to rock,
let’s go back.”---Z. Tyler
We
were totally blessed to have our Z. Tyler live with us for the first five years
of his fabulous life; he traveled all over this great land with us; we treated
him as an “equal” in all ways. Privy to any “adult” discussions, hopefully, he
gained a comfort for all subjects and was completely allowed, and encouraged,
to offer up his own thoughts and opinions. Amen!
We
were perpetually looking for properties to purchase for development or remodeling. Z. Tyler was our constant companion on these,
nearly, daily jaunts; eventually, the boy took to my carpentry attempts, taking
up the hammer and joining in the “fun”. I had him on a roof before he completed
elementary school; he has great natural athletic ability.
When
he was quite young, we would take a ride to search for properties; after an
hour or so, the boy would tire of the “boredom”. As soon as we encountered a
road that was “rock” in construction, as opposed to a paved (concrete or
blacktop) trail, Z. Tyler would politely announce, “Uh! Oh! Turned to rock.
Let’s go back.” Never demanding, simply gently “suggestive”. Nobody could ever
truthfully accuse that boy of classless impropriety. Discreet!
Z.
Tyler approaches thirty, now; I love him more each day. S-A-L-U-T-E! My man! When
(if?) I might ever grow up, God forbid, I want to be just like---you! My
proclaimed prayer-wish!
And,
I think he might have gotten bitten by the real estate bug; he just bought his
second home! Bravo! The gypsy-“line”
continues---maybe?...Hmm!
Thanks! Z.
Tyler! I love you!
Amen!
Ah! Cookie Jar “Loving” Sweet Memories!
Plus:
“Reflective” Panoramic-Vista
Wild prairie
winds ebb-flow through-crest grass-green waves
Boring-mundane
useless farm plow-chores time-waste saves
Kissed mother’s
tear cheek, bid father final farewell scowl
Trek Rockies,
Salt Lake, Columbia River gorge wind-howl
Cascade
Mountains on Willamette Valley find Costal Range
Escarpment view
Pacific green-blue not unlike home-change
Alone! No loving
mother’s touch or father-discipline stern
Independent-Individual focus-found
absent past-yearned
Fresh breeze cold
wind tastes Freedom born of Liberty
Pinnacle-summit
high panoramic-vista deep-cerulean sea
No piercing
sun-humidity mid-western hard-work farm
Fled lonely
“dead-end” toil embracing safe-from-harm
To sail those
mighty seven wild seas a fantasy-desire
Faux-imagination
also cruel-irreverence easy-inspire
To contemplate
the “value”-gain through time-space
What “virtue”-truth
worth reality if lost spirit place?
Upon yonder
empty precipice-delight a treasure-sought, now found
What
measure-fortune fraught fake stones on “fool’s-gold” crown?
Once in the hand
a single “bird” escaped to challenge holding “two”
Eternity-waves
rolling wild-wind white-froth purposeless, I knew
’Tis true enough
time-metronome beats mono-syncopated measure-accent
To till harsh soil
the same as imaginary travel-measure blue-waves spent
Reflective-vision
sees bored-soul spirit-lonely search only just begun
Secret ’tis
sacred-trust permeates always within under a “comfort” sun
“Greener-grass”?
Perhaps!? Stubborn clay-soil to imagined beach white-sand
Might, in the
end, best be served satiated-soul abiding in decided pleasured-plan
Such
humble-education admit defeat return to ridiculed reviled-beginning
Might? If I
could? I should? I would? Redeem myself? A defiled-sinning
Amen!
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