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Hi Walt,
I thought it was about time to let you know, again, that I think of you
often, read many of your posts, and wish you well.
I don't have a good story to tell, but maybe I could just stroll along
the edges of the mind forest, step across the tree line just a little
ways in and report back; thus the thought: What if we communicated
like bees? In stead of writing this, I'd have to fly over to where you
are and make some sort of dance. All the other bees would be
dancing the GPS coordinates to succulent flowers, and I'd be doing,
what? Dancing puns and lies and limping poetry, I expect. I can hear
the Silver Fox warning me not to go any deeper into the trees.
It's quiet. I can hear the battery wall clock ticking when the A/C
cycles off. The sound takes me back to the hot summer childhood
days of enforced naps, when the tick-tocks seemed much farther
apart, and the hands much slower. Nap jail. Eventually I'd fall
asleep, in spite of not wanting to, and wake up above a drool spot on
the bedspread. I could go to sleep now, but there's nobody left to
send me to my room (till they take me to the assisted care facility),
so I just sit here peering back and forth between the moment and
the mind, and apply whatever thoughts go flying by to the keyboard.
No nap though.
I'm still in Laughlin and pretty much a shut-in with the temp at 118
yesterday, but it occurs to me that our summer is maybe like a North
East winter. For a couple of months we stay indoors in the same way
they probably stay mostly indoors during the really cold snowy
times. At least I don't have to shovel snow and don't have mud (and
our cars don't rust). For ten months of the year it is paradise here,
t-shirts in December. But then, we lack all the gorgeous
vegetation...but also the Lyme.
My mirror belies the feeling that I could walk out the door and find
old high school friends as they were, but that's what it feels like
inside. But jar lids tell me of my aging hands, stairs scoff at me, and
babes have fallen from my fantasy. My scheming is of the hammock
variety, or at least of a strolling nature, and a peace surrounds me.
Look how long we've endured from boyhood, just a moment ago,
when right now was hidden beyond the curve of the earth.