Got any thoughts on this?

We walk with our dreams, some of them pressed beneath the surface. No one can see them any more than we can see the desert from here, the mountains, or even the Walmart in Beatrice. They remain wordless, invisible, in limbo. They may be as simple as that of a small child wanting to whistle like a bird. Or they may deal with tripods and great distance.We carry them with us each day, every day, in our secret sacks, mere silhouettes of emerging thought. Some of them might one day be realized. Some might droop sideways but hang on. Others may evaporate and be gone. But it is good to dream. Like flowers in a garden, they bring a bit of color to our lives, and that just might be sufficient purpose.

I love dawn where the sun reaches through tree branches like many hands of yellow fingers to touch the rich dark chocolate of emerging ground, and on its way chastely kisses the leaves and wakes the birds that strike out in a harmony of tiny bells. I love dawn, and dusk, and night and day. There's not much about the earth that I DON'T love.

Most times the creek gives no sign of holding power. The surface stretches out like a smooth tablecloth....or ripples nervously in rainfall or where something swims or crosses. But its power is not in movement because power is not so limited as that . Its power is the cradle it provides for life, and the added provision for unpeopled tranquillity.

This year, winter was a rather naughty boy or a grown man with a bad habit, rheumy-eyed as water peeking over the rim of a filled bathtub because he was back on the whiskey, But Spring finally came, a little sheepish perhaps, ornery with rising water here (but nearby so destructive).... but Spring is here now, and isn't she beautiful? More so if you (like me) live where the skyline is not a chaos of roofs, frenzy groomed for business, or the tailored suit of high where there is room to breathe and nature gives a highly visible, hundred high signs.

When I was a child, I couldn't wait to be an adult, and now that I am an adult, I find my greatest joy comes from doing childish things.


I've been told I have fifty different kinds of laughter and they are all obnoxious -- but I make no apologies.  Just glad I laugh honestly, and often.


I keep the vagabond, the wild Gypsy of my soul under control by wearing uncomfortable shoes.


Sometimes, because we train people how to treat us by our acceptance, we are responsible for our own bad treatment.


One of the best friends I ever had was kind, gentle, patient, tolerant, understanding, a loving soul, and incidentally -- a dog.


My idea of the perfect man:  He has sand in his voice, light in his eyes, hope in his heart, Christ in his soul, and calluses on his hands.  His looks are not important.


Looking for a good friend?  The best way to find one is to be one.


Appreciate!  Beware the setting sun....that it not catch you before your work, your play, your joy in this place are done.


Old faces intrigue me... Lines everywhere, lines that do not destroy beauty or detract from it, rather, define it.  Those are the faces of experience, tolerance, hard work, love -- so much more pleasing to the eye than the plastic veneer and blank expression of recaptured youth.


I love men....  I love old men with their deep wisdom, patience, satirical humor, the strong old trees of their "I don't give a shit if I'm not perfect" bodies.  I want to sit down, put my feet up, have a grand conversation with them, and be entertained....  I love young men with their antics and their energy, and the sparkle in their eyes, their fine form and faces.  I want to study them like museum pieces, admire them from the high summit of my age -- like beautiful sunrises, and be entertained.  I do so love men.


I love women....  I love old women for their understanding, wit, mothering, their random recipes for good living, and the "I don't give a shit if I'm not perfect" bodies.  I want to sit down with them, see their scrapbooks, share memories, and be entertained.  I love young women with their fluttering, flounce, and the sparkle in their eyes, and their fine form and faces.  I want to admire them, warn them from my own experience, protect them, and be entertained.  I do so love women.


Silly me!  Though something in me cheers the death of a trapped rat, something also feels sympathy for it....  I love all animals.  There is value in all, even if individual contribution may not yet be known by man, or understood.  I want to harmlessly watch all of them-- if from greater distance those that would have me for lunch, and learn and better understand how all animated pieces of the world fit together.



Sometimes I waste a little time reminiscing about the Good Old Days. TV was black and white. Coca-Cola cost a nickel, or was it a dime? We played a little kissy-face at the drive-in movie or at the rock quarry, and proudly wore  our hickies home. Sometimes we got ahold of a beer, pretended we were drunk, and thought we knew it all and were hotstuff.

There's something to be said for the ignorance and overconfidence of youth!  I miss it as I push myself beyond sweet recollection into the adult world that gains nothing from silly games or name-calling, and is so in need of constructive criticism and positive response.




I look forward to Spring sun peeking through the blinds...the perfume of lilacs on a warm breeze....birds singing joyfully...leaves gathering here and there, high and low - and all of them dancers.