Thursday, August 10, 2017

100817 BLOK

100817 BLOK
I was sitting in my bedroom in Monachillout, Spain, when I heard the sound of a passing prop airplane — this unusal.  The sound, however, always triggers some nostalgia, and I was pulled out of my chair and suddenly following it in the U.S. and long ago.
This sense memory, the days when youth was wasted on the young — Tucson, Arizona, 1947.  The only real home I´ve ever know, 2708 E. Mabel St., on a dirt road, the bright blue sky above.  The sound of a prop airplane passing, my feet on the pedals of my new Schwinn, American Flyer bicycle. Memories…
That was something like 70 years ago, yet I´m still riding a bicycle!  My eyelids droop from the exertion.
Am I dreaming or awake?  Am I a butterfly or a man?
H.

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