A little music, a little work, a bit of a softening shift in my mind…and I return to what was ‘then’…what used to be ‘now’. Jim Croce sings and I’m intently attached to the phrase ‘runnin shine out of Alabam…’
How might those words be explained to any friend of mine whose first language is not English? Doesn’t matter today. Not to me.
I’m resting in the ‘then’. A girl with long pigtails and pine tree sap in her hair…a long ago world in which there is no virus, the creak of the yellow bus sounds by the open window…lost faces…only dusty summer roads lie ahead…the late evening twang of tired crickets and the promise of the long July trek to Dakota territory…
690 Saint Paul 