Sitting here after just getting off the phone with my oldest friend the other night, and it had me starting to think of that place I left behind me as a place on that long road of a thousand miles full of memories. Visualizing in my mind’s eye the way, the mission valley burned bright from up on Scenic Drive and the block C on the mountain behind that observation point that we all had to paint with lime as part of high school initiation. Wearing the blue and gold for Cathedral or as we called it “La Cate,” which could be seen during the daylight hours from the same observation point.

As the skies, here in this North Country Fair go from blue to grey with the changing of the season seems to have me thinking of that place I left behind and that West Texas skyline. Where the dust of the Chihuahua desert blows like when the snow flies here causing white outs, and the peaks of the Franklin mountains would sometimes be covered in snow. And somewhere along the way down through those smoking fires of memories has me thinking of some of the things we did for fun, and some of the people I knew and still know back in that West Texas city I came from.

Now living for tomorrow and looking for the answers I am seeking I find myself drifting and staring in that smoking mirror of memory, and riding along the rhythm as I walk through those visions of a past life that now is part of that long road we all carry with us and lost in a daydream of recollections. Holding on to memories and learning how to live with them now, and knowing that in most cases old habits die hard.

Still there are times when I hear those voices from the past echo telling me to carry on and rise up beyond the noise and the confusion in order to see what lay behind the curtain of illusion. As I sit and ponder all those things both past and present to challenge what the future holds, knowing I will probably end up wiser for all I have found during my time spent heading on down the line. Heeding those values and things my Mother taught me and finding I have read most of the books my Father had read and been working on solving those puzzles encountered. Still there are those who have different views like my oldest friend and I have with him taking up the Republican party and myself being on the Democratic side, and unlike him I have stared death in the face and have so far lived twice.

Still I have that feeling of inside, outside no-where is home, and I really shouldn’t give a damn for people come and go just like memories are recorded, just like some dreams. So, I’ll just continue heading on down the road, with none of them really knowing how it feels to be me. Still I think back to those people and places in that West Texas City at times with the memories coming unbidden, and I am always searching for the real thing, and been dancing after riding that jitterbug ride and marching to a different beat. Keeping the spirit of being an individual alive which is the magic that carries me along down the line.

Wondering if I ever visit what would be awaiting me? And would I have been missed by those I left behind? My appearance might’ve changed some but it wouldn’t have changed who I really am that very few ever took the time to find out. So I will charge and raise my glass to all those memories and those good people I left and say this as a toast: Here’s to us, and those like us…. Damned few and most of them are dead.

Copyright: Timberwolf International LTD. November 2016 – 55