And still I try to catch and hold them carefully, like they're fireflies. Days later.
Hitching post out front. It never fails to make me swoon.
In casual conversation the other day, Maddie led with "My favorite ghost town is...".Well, now. That was something new.
And there you have the how-the-day-came-to-be.
The west holds much so magic for me.
It's like a living thing that swallows me whole... absorbs me into its Self, eliminating my own-- leaving me to be nothing but reflections of long, empty roads, stillness, dust, quiet, and days and years gone by.
I love the sense of lawlessness that still reigns, here.
There's nothing sinister or frightening in it... it's more like the land itself makes the rules. And to anyone that thinks to come in and demand its conformity into citified urbanity, the land squints its sparkly blue, crinkling eyes from under its hat and says in a laughing, slow drawl "Well... I reckon you're welcome to try."
I love it so.
It's understated and unsophistocated...
it's rough and it's plain-- if you aren't paying attention,
slow-moving and pervasive.
and harsh and peaceful.
It's humble and it's daunting.
It insists that one lives slowly and carefully.
I am reminded,
as I spy a little boy plodding up his front porch steps-- shirtless, and with beautifully dirty bare feet,
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
I am reminded that mine is not the only way.
My thoughts are not the superior thoughts....
my Progressive, enlightened mind can be better broadened by reserving plenty of space for those living a life much different from my everyday.
I am reminded to be fair,
to respect a different way of living and thinking.
I am reminded to honor those that are desperately trying to hold onto the romance and familiarity of yesterday and its ghosts,
I am re-minded.
That will do.