Remembering when the days were long, and the roads stretched to the horizon under those deep blue skies. And now those skies are grey and threatening with the season beginning to change as the clouds roll by. Everything has either changed or in the process of change and at times feeling like a prisoner who’s trying to break free. Never really at times seeing the writing on the wall and still the game continues to be played, and wondering just how far I need to go and I know I can make it to that new horizon where the warm winds blow in the heat and under those hard-blue skies, where the eagles fly.

There have been those moments when pain has been felt and been alone, but been flexible enough to re-invent myself to do what must be done. Now staring out at the auburn skies as the world slowly heads into the turning of twilight and the first stars appear turning from blue to red, with the skies full of holes that have the edges chased in gold. Closing my eyes and wondering if she’ll leave come springtime and if her hair is still red? There’s no-one but me out here on these back roads and railroad tracks making my way on down the line as the Tao directs and sometimes feeling overwhelmed with memories that I am starting to learn to live with. Old habits die hard, and I ain’t running no-more and I can feel something in the air, and has me wondering if the hammer might be ready to fall and questioning if it is all just a dream?

Still I am touched by her memory and there was a place we could go and you could let your hair fall out around you. And we could sit and watch the clouds roll by as we lay there in the tall grass near those alfalfa fields. But, out in the dust filled distance lie all those tumbled down farms and shacks we both had to pass by, along with those old forgotten cemeteries, where sometimes my mind’s eye can see what appears to be a lone new stone with my name on it.

Still I hear all of them calling out and the rattle of the shackles and irons that some still wear for their chains are still on, and it feels like I am hanging by a thread after having lived and learned. With there being so little left to believe in and wonder if she knew how I never regretted anything? So I’ll shoulder my pack and continue on making my way on down the line and knowing it is a fine razor’s edge between; good and bad, as well as between friend and foe. And still I carry my faith along with those few things I hold sacred and can believe in.

And be what Robert Johnson called: ”A Steady Rolling Man,” and just let those dreams and plans that remain curling on the chart tables to just sit there and gather dust. Knowing that desires can be reined in, as well as they can make fires whether we like it or not. But, those are the ones who lose all emotions and become withered in the dark light of the sun, which has me ask if any understand, or will they let go of my hand? Or is it just the thrill of going in for the kill as I make my way down these roads out here in the great wide open? They always said I played the game from the heart and always tried to win with a losing hand.

Somehow it’s all part of me and apart from me, now to only know it all in memory.

Copyright: Timberwolf International LTD. October 2016 – 53