I recall the evening invocatory call to the will of the 'Almighty' by
a visiting Pastor .. Ladies with fans , gentlemen waving hats .. Thunder
hammering the next county over to the west , streetlights filled with bugs and the occasional brown bat ...
Babes crying out , children becoming restless , his oratory becoming louder with each concurring "Amen' from the crowd ..
Tent ***** swaying ever so gently , the sweat on Dad's forehead and the smile on Granny's face , a stick of gum from Mom to get me through the evening sermon on a humid southern night ..
Tables lined end to end filled with potato salad , fried chicken and baked beans .. Ambrosia , peach pies and cakes .. Sweet tea ...
Evening dinners with gospel quartets and old time bluegrass bands ..
The kids receiving their Vacation Bible school certificates after the congregational feast .. The drive home ..Carried indoors , tucked away in bed with fond memories ..

The Wild apples grew until they smelt like roses,
A cerebral taste and touch of natures grain,
Familiar to the wild plains that, could only be explained
by the taste of sweetness succinct and personified.
So luscious,
trust us;
lost in strawberry fields and blackberry bushes,
to find our way across the plains underneath the sweet sun,
melting shoulder blades
and boulders reflect the essence of the day in the mountains.

In the mountains clouds hide like scarves around the summits,
and below,
there's an undergrowth where we were exposed.
We went toe to toe in those fields of daffodils and tulips trust.
Our lips touched for the first time as our thirst was quenched in sweat drenched alpine waters.
We dove into the abyss,
a near miss in shallow waters.
As we emerged fresh,
We plant seeds for our sons and daughters to find the roots where we grew together.

"This could last forever"

But it never did
and it never does.

Youngstown, Ohio, has been in our local news of late-
politics, on the TV screen
what was more pertinent to me, was trying to get a hold on the Ohio accent-
to try to get more into the words of a Ohio-an poet, called Vicki.

Returned to silence
a safe anchor
within the silence of God.

She wanted to go home, back to stars. No more lonely boulevards and loud cars. No more expectations and broken promises. Just back to the place where her heart wasn't heavy and her soul full of darkness. Where the wonder and magic still tingled on the tips of her fingers, and no gravity pulled her down to the cold reality of the world. Just back home. To the stars, where the planets belonged to her and twirled around her, pulling her hair gently with care,  and her future yet untold was still promised  a galaxy of love, wonder, and no more pain.