Summer's here. Plenty of blue sky and heat, and today, a perfect breeze, as I cross the Steel and ride south along the west bank of the Willamette. Lots of smiles. Everyone seems happy--no matter the degree of their troubles. And we all got troubles. But Im looking at these homeless folk. Cultural vagabonds, gathered under warm blue in a perfect breeze, sharing conversation.
Or what not.
So it's summer in this springtime of my life and I am with myself never to be alone. Still, to have a lover--A friend as such. And when life is as full of beauty and heat as it is today it seems a good time to be in love. Of course, to have one as such during the long gray of winter... Sweet!
Well, such is the desire of many.
I recently had a sweet tease of such a relationship. But it was lopsided and too much like a dream. Well, I do love to dream. Those dreams that are sweeter than life - such as it was. But it was still a dream.
Im awake now.
For a while recently, I was feeling like Huckleberry - or as I imagined he would feel - when I sat at this particular spot along the river. But I know it was the river and her trees - the simple continuum we complicate with our selfishness - that I was being one with.
She sets me straight.
I often go to that spot along her banks to sit--to be. Ive found many heartrocks there. It's particularly odd 'cause it's such a small spot covered with rocks of similar character. You know. River rocks. All tan and gray with too small a variation in color to be perceptible.
Unless one is seeing.
Light gray, dark gray, beige. Smooth, pocked, veined. Heartrocks. One rather perfect one I found there I later tied with red string and attached to thoughts that fell from my eyes the first time I woke up. I bundled them with stars and tied them to a tree along the shore. Then there's the red one. The deep red one. The color of mystery--of life.
Well, that makes sense.
Yeah, it's summertime. Huckleberry lives and he has this beautiful red stone he found along the river one day while he was being.
