A little music, a little work, a soft shift in my mind…and I return to what was ‘then’…what used to be ‘now’.
Jim Croce sings and I’m attached to the phrase ‘runnin shine out of Alabam…’ How might those words be explained to any friend whose first language is not English? Doesn’t matter today. We’re ‘runnin shine’ in the sun…
I am resting in the ‘then’…a girl with long pigtails and pine tree sap in her hair…no pandemic, no virus, the creak of the yellow bus with the big black tires…lost faces, once upon a time…only dusty summer roads ahead.
I hear the late evening twang of crickets and the promise of the long summer trek to Dakota territory…
690 Saint Paul 