Waiting For The Wind To Pick Up

The time was sunset during an early August moment just before the sky changed.All was quiet. I was sitting in a small beach chair in a field of green grass and looking around at a small park known to me as Eisenhower.And this place too.This place dates back to the longstanding memories of this thing I call my youth and the birthplace of too many memories that caused me to worry and fear the backhand of the status quo. I was sitting and leaning back, looking up to see the clouds and how they stretched like a feathery representation of angel wings, all spread out and beautiful like a Heavenly cover to the lid of a small town moment.I wondered where Susan Tedeschi was at the moment and if at all, was she playing a song to whcih i recall sharing with you, a long time ago. This leads me back to a time and a place and a fistful of memories and dreams too, which I’ve always had and dates me back to years of my childhood. I grew up here.I was born here and I died here more than once and more…