dirt roads and bare feet

preface:

the flowers between these pages must be from my little princess…I haven’t had a moment in a long time.  My son told me the television woke him up but I’m pretty sure he hasn’t slept…the Thursday before Easter, halfway through spring break, ‘Walk the Line’, paused on the old TV (play) and Johnny Cash on my mind.

image

I remember old dirt roads like his once upon a time…and my guitar sitting in the corner with Denny Boy on my lips and the F-sharp on my baby finger down the fourth fret.  Whistle it…”oh, Denny Boy…”

and then reality sets in and that deep voice from my childhood, “I hear a train a comin’….”

I’m reaching out.  Can you hear me?  Can you hear me over the plastic crinkle under the sheets and the noise of the furnace blowin’?

I don’t mean gravel…a gravel road that is, I mean dirt.  I remember dirt roads and bare feet, moist and cool where they meet, smooth and quiet between the grass.  They drove a truck down that road once or some old Chevy down to the clearing closer to the river where the frame of the old cabin sits.

Cut-off shorts and a string with a fly on a long stick in my hand…and when they were the right size I’d gentle my arch over the ovals of river rock that smoothed the center between the tire’s paths.

I never caught a fish with that stick but they made a fortune in glacier fresh beer down the road across from the blue house.

Johnny Cash said, “We’d play faster if we could” , and I know sometimes I stop short when the words could come out.  The truth is I don’t want to talk about it…I just want to fill this page with memories and places and then forget it all for another day while we have the time to be right here, right now, just you and I.

back to the roads…

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This entry was published on April 7, 2013 at 3:54 am. It’s filed under Life, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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