Wednesday, February 1, 2017

Day 65 plus "Reflective" Panoramic-Vista


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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