Woke up to the 12 string by my bed, a bit
dusty, calling my name.
'Wild
Horses' wiggles around the chords over and over til I finally get what song is
waiting to be sung.
I'm struck as I sit here, almost 61, flashing
to a moment years ago, standing on a friend’s dock at her family's island home,
far into the St. Lawrence Seaway...
There she is, standing there on the lawn in
her blonde, definitive glory, and my older brother in his, and as I stand on
the dock, his absolutely beloved Nikkormat in hand, to take their photo,
beautiful adolescent faces, so much behind, so very much to come, I step back
looking thru the lens finder, then back again for a better shot , and, you got
it, off I go - falling into the chest deep water , but yea, as my hand is as
straight as an arrow, and tho I may go under, the camera, women and men, is
safe.
Relieved as I emerge, water streaming from my soaked self, they laugh hysterically, as I climb out, dripping and laughing, and after delivering his beloved camera to his awaiting hands, land him a good hard punch to the arm.
And that's what I had for breakfast.
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