The Song

It had its own song.  It came from every direction.  There were highs.  There were lows.  The dynamics changed from soft to loud then back again.  In this mix was a clever little girl with a sing-song voice.

She was a doll standing three – maybe four feet.  She was young.  She must have been trapped in an Air Conditioned home for the past week.  She was very excited to be out.  Maybe it was just the crowd.  Her voice carried over it in a lilting melody.  It was hard to tell if she was singing – although, her smile made her look like a successful Broadway actor.

Smiles, however, were easy to be found.  It was a holiday.  It was a time to be happy.  Everyone was waiting for the main event.  Little girls smiled for other reasons.  Parents for what was to come later.

Pops and bangs could be heard in the distance.  They tempted everyone.  It was too early, but still it caught attention.  “Is it starting?” “What was that?” “Did I miss something?” It was all a part of the song.

There was a chorus from down the way.  Kids were playing a game.  A ball was missed.  A Frisbee was caught dramatically.  Some amazing feat had been completed.  The superstar was embarrassed and everyone smiled.  There were lots of reasons to smile.

It was hard not to smile with the smell of cotton candy, barbecue, and sun kissed skin from a hot day in July.

Glistening skin is nice with someone special.  Similar points of view could be seen everywhere.  Their songs brought them oh so close.  A blush would keep some apart.  Gravity helped others fall through the bluff.  A bluff is what it was.  Who could resist a sweet song from a passionate lover?

They were paired on blankets across the hillside.  They were young.  They were old.  Kids raced in between them all.  That entertainment gave them reason to smile when one another was not enough.

Some of these pairings were very intense.  The rest of the world did not exist.  The couple’s songs eclipsed those nearby.  They were great beautiful sonnets.  Yet, they were minor parts of the larger song.

The conductor could not be found.  No one was really looking.  This was America at its best.  It is free-form jazz.  Stop groaning and discard preconception.  That is the truest definition.  This is America at its best.

The land of the free is just that.  Everyone here is a testament.  None of them sing about a sovereign country.  Their songs are about the life they live.  Their songs are about their love.  Hopes and dreams are subtle leading melodies.  The song brings us together.  We all want the same thing.  We want to be free.

Many do not understand.  Some do not hear the song.  A good number are frightened.  It is a powerful song.  The song threatens those that control.  That is ok – so long as they don’t stop the singing.

My wife’s hand is in mine.  My son is snuggling close.  Explosions are all around us. The night is alight with the finale.  It is a loud production.  One that will be taken home and filed with away with other fond memories from the home of the brave.

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On A Trip

“Papa, I can always tell we’re about to go on a trip because my tummy tells me so.”

We’d been on the road for no more than ten minutes.  The car swerved and pulled to the right.  A semi-truck had passed on the left.  The accelerator tried to keep things moving forward.

My tummy had agreed.  I could feel every bounce of the road.  The spring, shocks, and tires did a great job dampening the breaks in the road.  The trio, however, made the ride like a camel in desert.

The car rides high on two axles.  As a family we were perched atop swaying in the March wind.  Like the truck before, the wind tossed us as we rode down the highway.  Swerving, bouncing, and breezing down the road was going to be the course for the day.

We are destined to part far away.  It is Spring Break.  The road was a ticket to a foreign land.  The end of the road promised something new and different.

This is what the tummy was saying.  “You are going to be a different person when you come home.  Your experiences will teach you new things about who you are and where you come from.  Who are you?”

The lengthy conversation is what makes it feel weird.  Normally the tummy just says “I’m hungry.”  Rarely is this part of the body so insightful.

The beginning of a trip is like the first hill of a roller coaster.  This car ride is no different than the ride in the amusement park.

There is a bump in the road.  “What was that tummy? What did you say?”

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Work Before Play

The roads were slippery. The car slid into the turn. The backend wanted to fish out, but it was easy to keep in check. The slow speed and early acceleration let the car missile through a gentle curve – albeit widely.
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Visited Before

I’ve come to see you before. It has actually been twice. The first time was a special trip. The second was for a show. Both were wonderful times.
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The Grocery Cart

The grocery cart ran out into the street. Of course, I had to chase it. I did not want to pay someone for a new bumper. The traffic was moderate and I knew the cart could be caught before it careened into a passing car.
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Shower

It would be very easy to say that it was the form.  It had been thought of before at length.  Volumes could be written about that alone.  The pose, however, was unique.
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Temperate Forest

It was a temperate forest in the cold of winter without snow. The vegetation was diverse. There was a mix of trees with leaves and pine needles on the ground. The ground cover was mostly dead. It had retreated with the onset of cold weather.
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Ten Days

Barnes and Nobles was crowded with children. Ricky Ricotta was missing. Captain Underpants was there. I don’t like underpants. Carle was alluring. Kids were waiting for a story teller. Where do these guys come from? They are so dreadful. Surely they are not paid to read.
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Lights

The gaps are interesting. It’s a break in the outside the traditional form. The gaps are never there in our memory. All we have are the curves from the outline. It’s a basic form everyone understands. This is why the gaps disappear. This time I won’t let it disappear. I’m staring right at it. I’m committing it to memory. I will not forget this gap.
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Juggernaut’s Hand Is Lost

It’s hard to stretch up on your toes to do work: tightening screws, screwing in hooks, or placing a nail. A bad back does not help. The pain is subtle and familiar. It seems to affect the world. Everything amplifies.
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