All that's left..

 All that's left is time. I've used up my prayers, favors, and dreams over the years as my children got older and had to wonder sometimes who would outlast the other. I continue to pray it will be me. My steps are slow now, but once upon a time, I could run like the wind chasing my youngest's kite as the string slipped out of her small hands. I caught up to the wayward kite hanging onto a small branch just inches from the ground and heard my child's laughter as she clapped her hands and jumped up and down with delight. I was her hero, and when she grew up, she was mine. As we grow older, we are blessed with slowing down as it gives us more time to remember all we never want to forget of a full and busy life. Close your eyes and see the faces of those you love the most. Keep them closed as you see before you the houses turned into homes, and the family that made it all so. Smell the roast cooking for Sunday dinner as the family arrives to fill the home with smiles and never enough hugs to go around. It's all about time now, as my life winds further down to an almost full or empty hourglass, and I dare not ask for more, as that would truly be selfish. Isn't it wonderful all the magical things these tired eyes have seen? Isn't it worth telling about my adventures with the mermaids and King Neptune himself, making me a believer?

From the shores of Greece and Spain. Italy and Africa. And places whose names can neither be pronounced nor spoken. A grass hut with the secrets of opium at your request for twenty American dollars. Enough now, least I go on all day and night and then some as my book flows through me, coming to rest on stained parchment with ends burned from a carelessly placed oil lamp. Do you hear me now? Can you possibly understand that my life story is in the words I write,

and the stories read to those with an interest. The Sunday dinner is ready, and the table is filled with smiling faces, now too hungry to hear the ramblings of an old man who's closer and closer to joining his ocean family in the silence of the deep.

MO

Clarity

 I often wish you were here with me, walking in the park or at the shore, not needing to speak as actions speak volumes, don't they? It's been so long since I saw you, heard your voice, and never grew tired of having you next to me. I've re-lived hundreds of memories that, after so long, I struggle to remember, but your smile manages to come to me whenever I close my eyes, telling me it will all be good one day. That everything forgotten will be restored in clarity. And all those feelings that have remained with me for so long will spill out of my heart and into yours as we begin another lifetime together forever in love.

MO

Still here

 His boots made a tapping sound as he made his way to the small stage in a bar called No Name Tavern. The joint was crowded for a Wednesday night, mostly young folks who attended college a couple of blocks away. The tavern had been here for longer than he could remember, but he knew it was the first place that let him play a couple of sets, and if the crowd liked him, maybe more. That was forty-some years ago. He went by the name Matt, no last name, just Matt. His hair was snow white and just below his waist. Somebody told me he started growing it the day of his first gig and never stopped. The ladies liked it, and he had to laugh inside, wondering how they'd react if they saw him bald as a cue ball. He had to admit it was a bitch to keep up with, so a while ago, he hired a pro to take care of it, especially on nights he played. That would be Ruth, who stayed with him for thirty years. In a month, he was going out on tour with the Winters brothers, a well-known band from the seventies who still knew how to rock the house down. They mainly played smaller venues like beachfront taverns and college halls, just roaming from town to town on a pre-selected schedule that would keep the bus running well into the winter. It also paid him enough to live okay for a few months. In between gigs, he played at the tavern to the delight of those college girls who always wanted to touch his hair every chance they got. He still had some lead in the pencil, but the memories kept him young, and the looks of people passing by whispering something about his hair or his choice of clothes and jewelry always made him smile because he knew they could only ever wish. But he would continue rocking the roofs off anywhere the road wanted him to go, where the music called his name.

MO

Autumn fun

 As a young boy, I would lie on the cool autumn grass, looking up at all the colored leaves falling from what seemed like giant trees. I told myself I couldn't move no matter what as leaves of every size and color fell around me, beside me, and if I was really lucky, in my open mouth waiting. When I grew tired of that game, Id raked a pile of leaves, and with a running start, I landed in the middle, completely hiding myself from my mom's call to supper. In the evening, I would gather the best leaves tucked safely in my coat pockets and carefully place them between sheets of wax paper, which I would then take to school tomorrow to enter in the best leaf competition. I love Autumn and all it brings with it, like pumpkin patches and hayrides: Apple cider and candy corn. Trick-or-treaters and carved-out faces on pumpkins of every shape and size. It's too bad it doesn't last longer, but one thing is sure: Autumn will give up its splendor to make room for a winter wonderland and a year to think about next year and all it will bring.

MO

Winters voices

 His long white beard and shoulder-length hair of the same color were momentarily shelter from the blizzard around him. Ice crystals became projectiles, hitting him with a force he'd never known and the wind like a pissed-off reed section. A youngster holding his mom's hand for dear life screamed at his appearance, which resembled a headless monster but was, in reality, just him with winter's fury capturing his head in white. He saw a red light a few steps away and knew it must be his destination. Opening the door into a toasty bar, friends greeted him while he removed his coat and shook his head to the dislike of others close by. Closing time always came too soon as he and the other all-nighters put on the layers and said goodnight. The blizzard had passed, leaving a calm and quiet winter wonderland as the last song on the jukebox rang in his ears. He reached his apartment and slowly walked up the several steps. Then, turning the key in the lock, he opened the door and was greeted by his wife of thirty-some years holding a cup of hot cocoa and handing it to him with a smile on her still pretty face. Busy night, she asked. He shook his head no, saying the storm kept a lot of folks' home. But he did his sets and ended up with forty bucks in the tip jar. He finished his cocoa and sat in front of a window, capturing all the untouched snow soon to be destroyed by snowplows and children doing what children do after a storm. The only sounds now were an occasional hiss of the radiator or creaks of the wooden floors as his wife headed for bed. She put her hand on his shoulder as she walked past him, reminding him the grandkids were coming by later and she would make cupcakes. He smiled himself to sleep until the sun rose to greet him into one more day of being who he wanted to be, and right then, he wanted about three cupcakes and matching cups of coffee to keep up with the small people coming over to challenge the snow hills around back. Life was grand, and no amount of time would ever change, that he said to himself, kissing his wife and dressing in his warmest clothes just in time to hear the kids screaming his name to come out and play.

MO

Milk, Eggs, and a slice of pie

 It was hard for him to get up in the morning now that she passed away. He didn't have much reason, or at least any that made sense. But he'd go through the motions because that's all he knew how to do. As the coffee pot began to brew, he gathered eggs, some he'd keep and others he'd give to his neighbor who had many mouths to feed. He'd milk the cows, just two now that gave him the milk he wanted and a few quarts for his neighbor with all those kids. Back inside, the coffee was done, so he poured himself a cup while making some biscuits he'd eat with breakfast and give the rest to his neighbor who lost her husband overseas not long ago. After finishing the dishes, he decided it was a good day for fishing, so he grabbed a few poles from the shed and headed to the stream that ran across his property. He wasn't there long when he heard the giggles and whispers of children nearby. You boys want to fish he asked.

 You can't do it from behind those bushes, can you? He gave them both a pole, showed them how to hook the worm, and cast it out halfway across the stream. Those boys went home later on with enough fish to feed their family, giving him some memories, he'd never forget. The sun was setting as he lit his favorite pipe, the one she gave him for Christmas long ago. It took a minute, but he sat on one of the two rockers on the porch, where they would rock and talk and sometimes just enjoy the silence and each other's company. He was thinking about all those times and how much he missed her apple pie when his neighbor and her kids walked up to the porch. A little bug who claimed the name Martha slowly carried a covered plate she held out for him to take. He asked what do we have here? as he removed the cloth and saw a huge slice of apple pie. It's your wife's recipe, the mom said. She gave it to me years ago. It wasn't as hard to get up anymore as he had a few helpers around all the time who made him laugh, smile, and gather eggs. Little Martha became a pro at milking, and my two fishing buddies never came home empty-handed. I know she's looking down and happy I'm not alone. And we both smile, seeing those kids fight for a place on that once-empty rocking chair.

MO

Autumn love

 The trees of Autumn are showing their best colors as we walk hand in hand, smiling at each other, knowing words are nice, but sometimes silence is golden. Your hand rests in mine, and our steps are slow as we give silent thanks for all we have. Our love has withstood time, and we keep it new by sharing all that is beautiful around us. A simple walk by the river watching a new father teach his kid to fish. A proud grandpa as he steadies the new bicycle, and she's off to the races. Families having a picnic for no special reason, just time to be together. I look up and all around us as Autumn leaves fall, knowing only love can ever be so magically beautiful.

MO