Willie Ray





Driving the speed limit; 45 mph.
Using fingers, we count how many seconds.
The continuous stalks of corn cover the window.
Eight, Nine, Ten, no more fingers; switching to toes.

Dirt overtakes the gravel. Years shift the sediment.
Complacency and fallen timbers; passable only by foot.
Living tributes; an organic museum.
Nostalgia is the price of admission.
A ceiling of leaves blocks out the beautiful sky.
Somehow this canopy is superior. A verdure Sistine Chapel.

Time becomes a paradox. Serenity mixes with memory.
How did it use to be? Does it matter? It exists.
Sanctuary; Living Testament; Peace on Earth.
A place where rain is wishful thinking. Emotional precipitation.
Washed over; enamored; Saturating the spirit.
No place for music here. The harmony is perfect.
Dreaming of droplets pinballing their way down.
The forest bed a perfect mattress below.
Each step is like a waltz with nature.
Each spin a revolution into the memory of another time. Perfection.

Back up the trail - glares sunlight. A final touch on this unexpected delight. Waking the eyes back up; Modern day. Yet… the spirit will return. Another journey can’t come soon enough. Spending our hours carrying today’s soul; chasing history. Finding who we are through nature’s nebula of timelessness.



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A song for 2nd Lieutenant Craver:








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