when i heard that George Winston died, i realized i had no one to tell, no one who would really understand how he transformed piano notes into snow, into darkened pine trees, into music of the winter solstice. transcendent, like time immemorial, i can still see my seventeen year-old self, not making a sound, just listening to Winston, that quiet focus, he taught me to be still, appreciate all that is.
ebbing light attracts us to the edge
of time, of earth, of day, of youth
the end of everything
the in-between, dusk, that word
a gateway into the unknown
we snap photos, pose with friends
try to capture something always lost
that we can never quite hold
quiet road
at night
when headlights
cease, time
of possum
raccoon and
the skunk
they wander
on asphalt
journeys, while
we sleep
they sniff
and scurry
when the
moon is
full or
waning, under
stars and
foggy skies
they are
out there
yet unseen
but come
morning sometimes
stiff dead
bodies, and
we just
swerve, in
a hurry
I regularly go on “Adventure Days” with my son in areas surrounding Nashville. A great one is: hike the High Ridge Trail at Bledsoe Creek State Park, have lunch at Swaney Swift’s on the Square (in Gallatin), visit Towne Square Records & Comics, then get ice cream at The Ice Cream Social.
Links here: https://tnstateparks.com/parks/bledsoe-creek https://www.swaneyswifts.com/ https://townesquarerecordsandcomics.com/ https://icecreamsocialreviews.com/
Daniel W. Polk 