Last King of the Gypsies
Autumn clamored in today, vacuous of falling leaves but in the still shaky pre-dawn morning that I found myself sputtering through, racing up Interstate 79 on the last stretch of my morning commute from my homeland, it was apparent to me that summer has dwindled to the last stretching sneezes of pollen allergies. Fret not, however, Indian Summer is still going to show its face, political correctness aside, and changing leaves, changing seasons, changing lives are a good good thing. I’m stretching my arms and feeling like they could easily touch the west coast if I wanted them to. Liquidation of house and home is fast becoming a reality as I plan to rid myself of all earthly things not directly related to the support and happiness of my son. I myself will be content to sit on a hardwood floor and scratch my musings into the parchment of choice for the day. Fame, fortune irrelevant, is an end point and I am a shaky traveler without goat or mule to provide me with company, but if luck and life have their best of wishes, then I’ll be followed (or lead) around the world by a beautiful baby boy and a bouncing young faerie of a hippie, both to bring out the better parts of me, the parts that aren’t concerned as much with proper timing of bill payment or getting home by 8 on a Sunday to catch the next episode of the Simpsons, but the little itchy pores in my feet that get all riled up as I dance barefoot, two stories high in a tree, or ride my bike or go for a lolligag down to the beach and around these old shores. Heaven on earth is a will and all I need to do is find my way.
Up Next: Much Apology