"...a work that extolled the virtues of the simple life of love, labour, and the dignity of human beings."
I am single, alone in a new city, Seattle Washington.
"I'm Your Puppet" was playing on the juke box downstairs in the basement of this huge skyscraper.
While working at the Smith Tower in Seattle, Washington, I meet Jose Fuentes. A Latin man from the island of Puerto Rico. We have a good working relationship, though I never meet any other of his friends in Seattle. We laughed and joked, we were working friends. Our social life was at work, on the job.
There were two bars in this building. I got friendly with the bartender in the lounge upstairs. We hung out together on weekends. We went bar hopping together and later, after midnight, we would got into the all night private social clubs on weekends.
Music at the time. I listened to "I'm a man" and "My baby wrote me a letter." And some
Buffalo Springfield.
I also met this young man at the hotel that I stayed at, who wanted me to be his guide while he went on an acid trip. I said OK , but no drugs for me. I was not into drugs. We had a good time, we went to the park and zoo and he spread his arms out wide and called the ducks to him. They came, swimming across the lake to us. We were so amazed ! But if you know anything about ducks in a park, if they think your going to feed them, they will come running. At that time in my life I did not know this, so we were truly amazed. This was a remarkable situation, a lesson in responsibility, taking care of someone so high, I was careful to guide him, to move him to the most colorful and most beautiful surroundings.
This reminds me of the ducks in Lexington Ky. near the horse farms. Laurel and I
used to go to this one park with a lake and feed the ducks. We did this weekly. The ducks got to
know us. The last time we were there, we had left the car door open and one of the ducks jumped into the back seat of Laurel's Mustang, apparently he was at the bottom of the pecking order and he was fed up. He wanted out! He wanted to go with us. We had to stop going to that park.
I stayed away from drugs at that time in my life in Seattle.
Come springtime in Seattle I was meeting new friends. But I wanted another Job,
something more with a future. I applied several places, but had no luck.

 Early spring 1967
In Seattle I am naive, insecure, easily molded, very friendly, innocent, an easy mark. I am
a hard worker, devoted to a task like a mule and I do travel a lot. I guess Jose thought that being the way I was in Seattle, that I would be a good for me to meet other people who thought the way I did. I was then working at the Smith Towers with Jose. I was the night watchman/clean-up man and Jose was one of the cleanup people. Jose and I hit it off right away. Jose spoke of introducing me to one of his friends from Spokane. So one weekend he introduced me to Sylvia. I do not know how Sylvia got to Seattle, maybe she had come to visit Jose, I do not know. She asked me if I would like to come to visit her farm. She said something about community living. I had no clue of what she was talking about. At the time I had met some hip city people of my age. The nightlife scene, drinking until two, going to Denny's or one of the all night parties, maybe some Chinese or just making a scene. Always trying to meet girls. Jose was married to Sylvia's high school friend. Someway I met Sylvia one day and the next I was on my way to Tolstoy.
Loving Sylvia
Tom was never supposed to fall in love with Sylvia and Sylvia was never supposed to fall
in love with Tom.
Sylvia was a western girl from near San Francisco. She was a avid horse back rider.
She worked in leather. She was an all around cowgirl. She liked rodeos. She talked me into
going back to Tolstoy. The land belonged to Huw William's her husband.
When Sylvia asked if I would like to come for the weekend to her commune, I said OK I
had nothing to lose. I went and got my things together. All I had was my sea bag, my world
was there, organized and neatly folded. She and I went over to the greyhound bus depot and
bought tickets for Spokane. Jose said he was sorry he could not come along, maybe he would
come by later, which he did, stopping by a few weeks later. I was not to see him, never again, thought I looked for him while I was in New York, I had no luck finding him.
As Sylvia and I rode the bus to Spokane we talked of things in our lives. As time passed, we
both knew something was happening between us. But we were being cordial and polite.
The more we talked the closer we got. By the time Spokane rolled around we knew we were
in love. I also knew she was married to Huw.
When we arrived in Spokane we stayed at one of her friends house. Her friend was
an African student. I remember her friend performing an African fertility dance for us, stripping
down to her bare essentials with rings around her wrists and ankles. I was impressed.
The next day I met Huw William's, he took us to his farm that he called Tolstoy after
the famous author. Golden wheat fields were everywhere in this area of Washington State. Canyons branched away from the rivers. Tolstoy Farm was down in one of these canyons. Access to the farm was a dusty road that traveled to the bottom of the canyon. You could travel in and out of the canyon from each end of the dusty road. The road was to one side of the canyon, it traveled lengthwise along the canyons edge. On the other side of the canyon was the creek leading to the river.
When we arrived I was introduced to most all there. Their was one couple, he with his fiery red beard, denim coveralls and sandals, he was sitting on the long front porch, of the main house, playing a banjo and his wife a heavy young girl, dressed as she had come from a rural farm in Eastern KY. She was strumming an autoharp. There was Tom who dressed and looked like a lumber jack. Andee his wife, big busted and wearing a T shirt and blue jeans. Ken a tall man in his forties, wearing cut off jeans and nothing else, balding light brown hair, black rimed glasses falling from his nose, always sweating from the garden, where he could always be found. There were others around but I had not met them yet. After one day I decided to stay, everyone was delighted. Huw and Sylvia showed me where to stay in the main house and they took me on a tour of the whole farm.
I helped with chores around the community, I was a great helping hand to everyone.
I learned most of the chores to be done. Everyone there did what they thought was their
share, some more or less. As time evolved it seemed that Sylvia and I were doing the same
chores together. We never noticed anything different, being drawn together by our own mutual feelings. We both were working hard, we loved every minute of it. As time passed, we knew the difference, but the work was still done.
To relax we would walk or ride horses together. Sometimes we were a pair walking
hand in hand in the Daisy meadows of Tolstoy. She told me that she was going to have
Huw's baby. She asked me to help her with her la maize breathing. We laid in the attic
together and thought and talked about the baby. There was comfort and love involved in
what we did. No harm was meant, no sex was involved, just pure love for each other. I think everyone tried to ignore it, no one said anything. This went on through summer and fall.
During most days we were together either as a communal group or just two or three
of us. Sometimes we would work with Huw around their cabin at the other farm. We were
always busy. At that time there were three farms, Tolstoy the Commune, Huw's farm, which was closer to the river. These two farms were down in a river canyon. The third farm belonged to his father, it was on top, a huge farm growing wheat to be exported. Huw helped his father work this wheat farm, I helped bring in some hay. All these farms have evolved in the nineties. They have different names, but they still stand on the same ground, still productive organic farms.
Other things were going on in my life, I was turned on, I had met Joanie and some other neat people. I read just about all of Huw's books about Tolstoy. I loved Tolstoy's short stories.
What was going on with Huw and Sylvia I do not know. Everything seemed fine at
the surface, I felt no tension, no bad vibes.
The autoharp the young lady would have to tune each time she decided to play it. She would strum while her friend/husband would play bluegrass on his banjo. Someone would pluck a bass in their heart. I remember a bass in my heart (a pole, string and a washtub), but I know it was not there. (Do you remember someone making a flute? Someone at Morningstar was very good at making flutes and passing them out.)
In late September, when I left to pick apples I had every intention of coming back to Tolstoy. After I had left and had some time to think while I was picking apples, I did wonder what Huw was thinking. I did feel that maybe..........But I said to myself no, you all will be fine. My apologies to Sylvia for the pain and suffering. I was a lost young man with no responsibilities. When lawyers speak of pain and suffering we know what pain and suffering mean.
She does not speak to me.
Sept., 1967
We honor the day of your birth.
We set you apart from the crowds.
We offer gifts to you.
We celebrate the renewal of life.
How can we say that this love ended? I left in love, I left her in love. We could never place ourselves in this position again without real effort. We have both gone in different direction knowing that we have loved. It is a wonderful thing to know that you have been loved. Our differences are huge, when we speak to each other it brings back memories that are memories of youth. Time has changed our bodies and thought. I am truly sorry for the pain I have caused with stupidity. I will always be a child in love.
Back again to Spring 1967 Tolstoy Farm
My relationship with Huw was good, I guess, he took it in stride. He is a worker with a lot of
know how. I learned all about Tolstoy the writer. I read all his short stories. Tolstoy had a
big one room library in the main house. I lived in the attic of the main house. Cabins were built at Tolstoy because of the severe winter. You had to stay warm. All the houses were meant to last and keep you warm in the winter. How they provided for water through the winter I do not know. They had a spring high up in the hills. Water was always abundant. I went up to the spring with Huw to inspect it. The spring was high up in the canyon. Huw had built a small pool right where the water came out of the side of the hill. He had placed a black pipe in the pool. One thousand feet of black pvc pipe went down the ravine and under the road to the main house and shower. Water would fall through the one inch pipe down the hill to the shower and kitchen. The shower stood out by the road, four wooden posts, a wooden top, deck and side boards. At the shower he had coiled the pipe on top of the stall. The sun would heat the black coil with water in it, thus the hot water in spring and summer.
The farm was down in a canyon. The soil was fertile, It had been farmed forever.
We were only young visitors. The garden was next to the main house. It was large and
turned by hand. You hand picked the bugs off the plants. There was a tall man there, Ken,
mild mannered. His business was his own. A worker bee. There was Nancy and Wally and
the two kids. I remember the young girl coming up to Andee at the farm and asking her
why she couldn't pee over a log like the boys? The women took her to the woods for some
lessons. When she came back she could piss over a log with the best of them.
There was two horses at Tolstoy Farm, a mare that Sylvia used to ride and Abe a large Belgian, who had been cut. I think Huw had his own horse near his cabin at his farm. Abe was of mixed breed, strong and gentle and easy to ride. He was the working/logging horse, he would pull logs out of the woods. I helped Huw on two occasions trimming trees and chaining logs for Huw. There was a saw mill there you would have to hook up your auto to it. I had never an occasion to see any logs cut.
Abe's home was across from the main house in the barn, which also had a tack shed alongside for saddles, harness, bridles and other useful objects. Behind the barn was a creek where the water ran very cold. It was the place where the milk was stored after Stash had milked Linoleum. He milked every morning and evening. There was always milk there from the previous milking. This milk was carefully removed from the creek so as not to mix the cream back into the milk. This cream was carefully skimmed and placed in the butter jar. This jar was put on the porch of the main house to carefully warm by the sun. When it felt right the cream would be churned. The butter churn looked like an egg beater, but had three paddles.
Linoleum and her calf, the goats in the hills. There were goats in the hills surrounding the farm, They started out as a source of milk. Goats have a bad habit of going where and eating what they want. They can only be contained by feeding them choice tin cans. Sylvia said they were there, but I never saw them. She had one goat that she used to trim the yard around the cabin where she and Huw stayed. Every morning she would pull up the stake and chain and move the goat to a new area to be mowed. On occasion she would have to find the goat and chain.
There was a sauna down at the creek, where a young man had built an one story A -Frame,
one large room below and a loft for a bedroom. He had it all insulated with egg cartons..
Stash milked the cow every morning and evening, you could sense that he grew up on a farm.
Ramon was not there, when I was there. I thought that he had lived there but was out some where else while I was there, he says he never did live there. I never met him until we met in the Yakima Valley apple orchards. Ramon did come and get me at the apple orchards on his way south. There was a spring above the cabin where Joanie stayed. I thought it was Ramons cabin,
but I was wrong. Joanie wrote me some beautiful letters of our relationship during this time frame. I do not remember Katie the dog, ( I remember a dog running alongside of the truck as we went places around the farm, I guess that was Katie.) I remember her reading Winnie the Pooh to me. Joanie says Katie was there at that time, I think Katie and I both loved Pooh Bear.
. Joanie spoke lovingly of the glow on the white roses by the Northern Lights embracing us in a communion of friendship. Everyone in the commune went to the top of the ridge to view the northern lights. There were no large cities nearby, so the northern lights were spectacular. We spent half the night up watching those lights, before going to her cabin.
Things that Joanie said to me that have stuck to this day. She said,
"Be careful what you wish for, for it may come true."
Joanie said that she used to be like the princess and the pea, she went on to explain that if you piled ten mattresses on a bed that she would still feel the dry pea when she laid on top of the bed.
Sometimes people remind me of things that happened so long ago. At Tolstoy Joanie and I were new friends. We had traveled different roads to Tolstoy and later to Morningstar. I remember her explaining to me the way she was, she told me of the Princess and the Pea. The story of how the Princess could feel the pea at the bottom of a stack of mattresses as she lay in bed at night. Joanie explained to me that she was a princess and that she had dropped out so she could understand life and not be bothered by the pea. I understood what she meant at that time. I had different reasons for being at Tolstoy, but I was also there to understand my life.
I keep thanking her because she is a teacher and I understood what she was saying. We were on the same level plain and she taught me a lot about life. Our time together was intense and sweet, two young children, learning about life with each other. At that time I was totally involved with Sylvia as my love and Joanie as the wonderful friend, teacher and lover of life.
She said that if someone gives you of gift of food, do not say that you were on a diet, be grateful and accept the the gift with pleasure and enjoy it.
"If you are on a diet and someone gives you a piece of cake as a gift, it is ok to eat it."
We spoke of other things, but these thoughts still stand tall in my mind.
Picking a flower that you were not supposed to have? Sometimes things happen and the flower is gone. You ask for help and dumb knowledge abounds. The ground is left bare for a moment in time.
Sometimes we do things we should not have done.
Joanie helped me remember some of the names above.
When you are young you look at the world thinking that you can find answers by being whatever you want to be. When a person gives up all wealth for just a brief moment of time, say a year. They become poor. They become poor because they want it to be so. You think that since you are now poor, you now understand the poor. For a time mentally you think that you are poor. You think that you understand all the poor people in the world. What you understand is that you are poor. What you may never understand is that how poor some people are. Studies in time, are just that, studies in time.
At Tolstoy we put on blindfold for a day. We wanted to see what it was like to be blind. What happened was that everyone wanted to take off the blindfolds and see.
We are born without wealth. We acquire wealth when we build or keep comfortable or convenient tools. Intelligence is our tool with which we conquer poverty and death. The state in which we maintain wealth has no bearing on our spiritual being. Our spiritual being exists. It will always be a part of life. We see our reflection in life's mirrors.
Our ability to worship the state of being alive is very nice. To say that only humans acquire this kind of wealth cannot be clear.
There was no electricity at the farm, all light at night was kerosene lantern light. It was very special to stay up late at night for us. We all went to bed after dark.
Andie and Tom were veterans of communal living, anti social to society but well like
to others living on the commune. Hard working and they were pleasant to be around.
The butter jar:
There was a glass jar with a lid that had a crank on top. (If you tied three baby milk bottles
together). That would be the shape of the jar.
The sauna by the creek, near the A-Frame.
The water running in the creek was cold, icy. Someone built a sauna near the creek.
The temperature outside was chilly, if not cold. The sauna looked like a teepee, but black
plastic was used instead of canvas. A pit was built in the far end of the teepee.
A fire was built outside the teepee. Dry rocks, the size of footballs were heated in the fire. Do
not use wet rocks, they will explode. When the rocks were hot they were carried carefully
into the teepee. They were placed into the pit, then someone would ladle out water from a
bucket onto the hot rocks in the pit. The steam would rise. When you had enough you would run to the creek and jump into the small dam there, three foot deep and cold. Steam would rise from our naked wet bodies into the black night sky. As those before us said, "Cleanliness is next to godliness."
The octagon cabin where Huw and Sylvia stayed had eight sides, it was built by Huw. Everyone was very proud of the craftsmanship that was put into this cabin. It
had a sod roof. The floor inside was dirt, compact and hard, Sylvia kept the floor swept and free of dust. They had a dirt cellar in the side of the hill..
Huw visiting the reservation.
Huw decided to visit the Indian reservation across the man made lake, about a mile away. He
asked us all if we wanted to go with him. Well I remembered two things that I never
wanted to do again. One was to visit a bunch of drunks and winos (my impressions of the Indian reservation were rather biased), at that time the pride had not returned to the reservations in great numbers. Two in my early years about five years prior to this time frame, I almost drowned swimming across a lake this big. I told Huw both of these things, but he said he was going anyway. We discussed the situation and it was decided that he was going alone, but that he would paddle across on a log. So that is what he did. We waited patiently, which was quite a long time. We swam in the river while we waited. When he returned he was disappointed that the Indians really didn't care what he did.
At one time while we were swimming in the river someone dove into the river from high up
the bank, never checking the depth. He was surprised that it was only a foot and half deep.
Finding clay and making pottery. Huw and Sylvia knew of a place on the side of the
canyon where there was blue clay showing in the stratum of the bank. We climbed the
bank and gathered as much clay as we could carry. We took it back to the front of the main
house and started working it, kneading it. We cleaned it and then we started making things. I made a cup, not to good looking, but functional. Someone built a homemade outside oven and we baked all our goodies.
The trip south, blissful oblivion, the summer of love
Sometime during the summer of 1967, Sylvia ask me if I wanted to go with her on a trip south to San Francisco. I was young and eager, totally involved with Sylvia. Her wish was my command. There is not much that I remember about the trip. I remember traveling through the giant redwood trees in the old pickup or and old sedan, I am not sure. I remember the crystal clear stream falling over white rocks in Oregon on our diagonal way to the coast of California. I remember stopping and marveling at such beauty. Highlight this as a place to be, the overwhelming love of beauty before me. When we reached the coast we traveled the winding roads along the California coast. I remember stopping and parking near the beach, the world at our feet, the blue /green ocean before us. I took Sylvia to the sandy beach, we walked hand in hand along the beach. We swam nude in the ocean, playing like young children, lost in our own world. As we neared San Francisco, we stopped along the coast above the city, we never crossed the bridge. We stopped at a little community of crafty shops and houses. We entered a large building that look like an old barn/studio/warehouse. She was looking for an old friend, I just tagged along behind, like a little red wagon. The building was huge, an open area with a walkway along it's edge,  paintings were everywhere, an art studio. We walked around looking. Someone said that they were not there. Our next stop was Sausalito, I knew where I was now. We stopped along the boathouses. She entered the boat area, looking for her friend, she traveled along the boathouses. She came back and we headed back to Tolstoy Farm. It seems strange that this is all I remember. Maybe Sylvia can tell me what we were doing? Is this the way Joanie got back to Morningstar? Who knows? I certainly do not know. I remember someone else with us while we swam in the ocean. I will ask Joanie? Were Sylvia and I looking for Ramon with Joanie? Did we stop at Stinston Beach? Bolina?
The trip south was blissful oblivion for three of us during the summer of love in 1967.
  I can now assume that Joanie had asked Sylvia to take her back to San Francisco. Joanie had a premonition that something there was not right. She was right, Ramon was very sick. I knew none of this on the trip. She did not go swimming because it was not right, she stayed in the seat of the vehicle, forlorn, while we played and cooed on the sandy beach. We stopped at the places where she thought Ramon would be.
I talked to Joanie and she thought that she did go on the trip with Sylvia and I.
Was this infatuation? Was this infatuation with Sylvia on my part and a job of being good on their (Tolstoy Cummune) part, something to be expected from the new underground generation? Sylvia and Joanie went the distance with their caring for me, I was lost in this new infatuation of being.
The love that was generated because of this caring/infatuation has carried me into the nineties. Knowing that a person has love in their heart for you has change me. No matter what the situation, the stamp/inoculation of memories has maintained a high level for the love of life. Whether this is reciprocal it is not known. My wish is that what love I give for life is absorbed by the life/being before me.
May the words of love pat our lives lightly on the back of our hand.
 Picking elderberries. At times everyone would jump into the back of one of the
pickups there, with the dog running alongside and go elderberry hunting. When the berries
were spotted everyone would jump out of the truck and gather berries. It was communal,
the things we did. Wherever we went we would hop into the back of a pickup truck, it
would look like a Norman Rockwell painting of a bunch of rosy cheeked hippies in the back
of a pickup, with dog alongside. I remember one day this young lady there at the farm
informed us that she thought she had some kind of social disease. Well the whole commune
had to hop into the backs of two pickups and head to town. It took the nurse in town a half
day to figure out who was sleeping with who, she was not to pleased seeing us come into the
health department. Of course we didn't have a care in the world. Everything turned out
Going shopping for honey. We bought honey from a beekeeper, we bought and paid
for five gallons in a rectangular tin container at a time.
Separating Linoleum from her calf. Huw and Stash informed us that in order that
we continue having milk, we would have to separate Linoleum from her calf. The best way
they informed us was to take the calf to market. Everyone voted and it was decided that we
would fatten the calf first. I being a city boy, did not quite understand the implications. As
Huw and Stash went about their business fully aware of the implications. Two of us were assigned to move Linoleum and her calf. We went and got a rope, knowing how we were
going to do our business. This other young man and I walked over to Linoleum and petted
her, she was kind and content. We put the noose over her head and led her over to the open
gate, she walked with us into the next pasture. As she walked into the next pasture we
closed the gate behind her separating her from her calf and going quite a long way into the
next field. She realized what had happened and immediately plowed through the nearest
fence with us hanging on to the rope for dear life. We were not going to give up. She pulled
us through bushes, thistle, nettles ( the stuff that itches) in a ditch and heaven knows what
all before we finally let go of the rope. both of us were covered with scratches from being pulled
through the shrubs. I think the next step was to put the calf into the back
of a pickup and take her to the other end of the farm. We licked our wounds.
Cutting apples and drying them. I spent several days with Sylvia cutting and quartering
apples and then laying them on a screen placing cheesecloth over the top of the screen and
Picking cherries and fighting the bees was always fun.
Huw had told me when I arrived that we had two meetings a week to clear up matters. One meeting was social, to air differences in relationships found in communal living. The second meeting was to find ways to finance Tolstoy farm and find out what was needed. These meetings were held in the main house at the big dinning table there.
At night it was custom to sit around the campfire to the right of  Tom and Andee's cabin and do campfire things,
talk, sing songs and do a little smoke. The peace pipe would be passed. The energy would flow and the peace would come.
Sharing what little you have seems difficult, but sharing is what you did. The peace
from sharing is not to be put into words. It is profound. As profound as Winnie the Pooh. If you think of all great men who shared their ideas, thoughts, ideals, deeds and land, you may understand.
Sept. 1967
Knowing that a community this big cannot survive without help I decided to go pick
apples again. So I said my good-byes and headed for the Yakima Valley in Washington state. I met Ramon on his way south to Morningstar Ranch at an apple orchard. I am easily moved, open to suggestion, free. There is no skeptic here.
When I left with Ramon to go to Morningstar, I never realized the turmoil that I would cause in Sylvia's life. I'm sorry for what I have done to that women. I guess she is still pissed as well as a number of other ladies that know the story. My Apologies.
The Druids
Does anybody remember "The Druids"?  They were four mailmen from San Francisco.  I met them while they were on vacation, they were making a whirlwind tour of communal life and Tolstoy Farm was one of their stops on this tour.
While we were working in the garden at Tolstoy Farm in 67, we heard a rumble of metal, we looked up to see a cloud of dust come to a halt in front of the main house. After the dust had cleared, we saw four men dressed in postal uniforms, hands on hips over their gray shorts. They were standing in four inches of dust, in front of a dark dusty Datsun . They said they were "The Druids" and they had come to Tolstoy to study Sanskrit. There was this young man at the farm that had studied the language in school and was very good with the language. Since they were "The Druids" they had come by to see him at Tolstoy Farm. I remember standing and watching these five people drawing and writing in the dust of Tolstoy.
I think he was the same young man that helped me move Linoleum, he had an built the A-Frame (with egg carton insulation) that he and his friend or wife were living in at the edge of the canyon by the creek. The sauna was there where he stayed by the creek.
"The Druids" said they carried the mail in San Francisco and were on vacation. Their irreverent humorous attitude reminded me of "Dr.Hook" or "The Band". They stayed the weekend sharing with us all a lot of good humor, understanding and smoke.
I tried to find them in town while at Morningstar, I found only one.
Thanks to Huw

 They had come to work the soil, they had answered the add that said.
 "Young people needed to labor for the love of the earth, eat what you sow. Learn about your life while working in the Garden. A great opportunity for the self awareness of your being. A learning skill about labor and life. What you need for peace on this planet." So they had come to till the earth, to work for the goodness of mankind. To reap what you sow, back to the land, to cleanse the soul with labor and love. Their hoes dug into the clean organic earth, cleanliness dripped from their bodies. They had never felt this good in their entire life. They were pounding the earth with their hoes.
"Do wa ditti, ditti dom, ditti dom", echoed off the sides of the canyon. There was no money involved,  the add had said, "labor for the love of the earth, eat what you sow." That they did, a bowl of rice and some vegetables, some soy sauce. Wheat or oats in the morning, honey to sweeten the day/mind. They were learning a lesson, the lesson of human health, organic farming and the labor of love. Before winter they would head back to the city, cleansed of the inorganic thoughts of the city, free to labor for love, not money.

August 2002
A new circle is going down, whispering and whimpering in the fog.
Swirling arms are reaching out like a tentacled beast is his last call for air.
This is the nightlong emotion that keeps the dreams at bay.
These are the dark nights.
We are pacing the wooden floors in silence searching the mind for a lost answer.
Silent and alone this mind wanders, waiting for answers that will never come.
This is the whispering call of the puppy who is whining just a few feet away from the warmth of its' mother.
A mother knows, she walks over and the eyes smile, they walk home.

I always thought that we would have this great reunion when I was sixty-four.
Swirling and dancing and great hugs abounding.
There are no words or paintings to describe this lose. There is no peace on earth.
What a disappointment it will make…
When I'm Sixty -four.