a reservation at a prominent resort booked–me and my girl
excited for fun in the mountains with nature no brouhaha, please
Yesterday, I booked the hotel for Labor Day weekend in Asheville, NC. Jernee and me will be staying at the Crowne Plaza Resort. I got a great deal using Snaptravel that saved me around $260.00. I had to jump on that deal; it would have been ludicrous not to. I am excited, and I hope we’ll be able to see this thing through. I worry with these rising numbers for the Delta variant of the Coronavirus, but I am going to remain hopeful about it.
After high school, you knew where your heart was — far away from me and everyone else who loved you but for a greater cause . . .
The Air Force claimed you for twenty years and with each one that passed, I further admired my friend who desired to do something that scared the shit out of me.
You have always been a tackler of the difficult, shifting out of comfort zones and pulling me away from things I clung to for safety. Risks were your forte, they still are.
As a dreamer, basking in the glow of others’ spontaneous events, I looked into your world but could not keep my feet in it.
I am proud of you; you are the epitome of superhuman, Mom de jure, and peace when this chaotic world rages forth.
Which birthday was it of mine when you told the workers at the Japanese restaurant I was to be celebrated and for fun and to play along, I had to do the funky chicken while they sang?
I nearly fainted but you powered me on and my reservation about publicly embarrassing myself ended up being the fun I needed at that moment.
I wonder if you knew that. I’m sure you knew that.
You were the person who appeared out of nowhere; on leave, ready for whatever came our way. You made dreams come true without much effort. Now that we are aging, we still remain; young at heart and full of life.
We have changed but we have not changed and for the love of everything good and true, this is a testament that will outlast us.
Our story is one that makes me smile. We should keep turning the pages.
My little wild child stands in the woods–blows the dandelion seeds into the air and captures them when they fall. I look on with a smile plastered across my worried face. How long will she have in this world living wild and free before this world comes for her? My little wild child–notices my frozen, frustrated face and collects her seeds–places them in my hands . . . “Better days are growing, we just can’t see them right now, they’re only seeds.” My little wild child . . . lights up my life . . . lights up my life.