Lazy Days Of Hours Wiled Away.
Lazy Days Of Hours Whiled Away.
I remember lazy days of many hours whiled away whittled from my life all the dust of what I saw then captured in an unorganized pile and never swept away. Those leisure past times when nothing was mandatory just me a mandalaying under a willow chewing on some tall grass stem. Watching the birds moonwalk the tree limbs squawking over imagined territories as clouds gathered in clusters to steal my sun. Straw hat over my eyes when the view became a burden as tiny holes with the scent of old hay became my whole world. Sounds were amplified in my blinded state the splash of pool water as someones cool daughter played Ethel Merman in four inches of aqua. A transistor radio scritch-scratched a bit of the sixties in the June jambalaya in which we all stewed. A plane droned above carrying passengers to places I'd never see in my stationary state. Boys playing stick ball on the next block with the occasional schwock of a solid hit intermingled with juvenile obscenities between strikes. T.V.'s dribbled dialogue leaking out screened windows as housewives put aside laundry for the soaps that washed away the daze of being slave to five kids and a hectic daily schedule. Cars hummed on distant roads adding a constant motion to my mind travels the sun reflecting off chrome with occasional glares dazzling the vertical as I lay horizontal with no fixed point. 1:00 pm on a summer day The smells of charcoal and freshly ground cow mingled with fresh apple pies that squatted in tempting positions on windowsills. Then suddenly a blond haired, blue eyed goddess heart wrenching in the flesh my girl next door plopped next to me with a sweet smelling whoosh and teasingly lifted my hat inquiring as to what I was doing and offering something better with a glance that twinkled and allured. I brushed off the hours of accumulated debris bug bits and cut grass stems tumbled into natural confetti then we wandered off together to some childhood games long since forgotten. it was a bit of paradise in the midst of the projects where I grew up. A daily whiling away of those precious hours of youth a sun bath for the dreamer in me that fertilized the poetry I started writing then. It's a place I now wish I could get back too when the busy-ness of each day demonstrates how little time we really get in the long view of it all. For I am but one tiny speck of those dust motes I watched dancing in the sunlit beams from a window when I was just a toddler. Ever amazed at their antics as they went swirling through what seemed to be a slow motion life only to be floored later at how quickly it all passes by and is gone..............................
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