I have this idea sometimes. Or maybe this is a vision. Maybe this is just the need to close my eyes and see something different.
Maybe I need this because there is enough craziness in the world. There is enough ugliness and hate. We don’t need more. We don’t need more reasons to argue. We don’t need more reasons to complain. We already have plenty
I was told to let today be sufficient for itself. Tomorrow will come with its own list of things to do, places to go and things to see. Today is only here once. So, make it count.
And I get that.
I have this vision, although my vision changes from time to time. I want to see the world. I want to see different parts of my country. I want to see mountains that I have never seen before. I want to see the middle of America, which is mainly unknown to me.
I want to find the exact middle of the country and maybe find someplace to eat. I want to go to a place called Belle Fourche, South Dakota. I want to go here because this is the exact, geographic location that sits in the middle of our 50 U.S. States.
I wonder if the locals would greet me kindly. I wonder if they would accept me or take me in and show me the best places to get a good slice of pie or have a mean stack of flapjacks in the morning.
I want to find a bed and breakfast here and stay for a few days.
I have this dream of mine. I am on a train with my head leaning against the window. I am watching the scenery change. I can see the landscapes, which are mainly open country. I want to see the amber waves of grain. I want to see the mountains. I want to see the fruited plains. I want to see the people in places that I never even heard about. I want to hear their stories. I want to know their names and hear about their families.
There was a time, albeit long ago. I was in New Mexico. I was in Carlsbad, to be exact. I have very little memory of this. I don’t know much about the town at all. I only know that my Mother grew up here. She seldom spoke about home. She never spoke much about the town or the things she did. I suppose she had her reasons for this. In fact, I know she did.
Maybe I could take a train ride to this place. Or at least be somewhere close. I like to think about boarding an Amtrak from New York City and heading outwards to any destination.
I don’t want to move or stay so long. I just want to go. I just want to see.
I want to step away for a minute and take a break. I want to think about different versions of beauty. I want to see what the culture is like in different places and find a spot that serves a great bowl of soup. And I mean the kind of soup that makes my upper lip sweat. I want to find a place in the middle of nowhere; where the soup is so good that after I sopped up the last drop with a piece of bread, I would be filled with the supreme satisfaction that indeed, I just had the best bowl of soup in the world.
I want to go to one of those towns where everyone talks to each other. People say hello for no reason at all. I wonder where this place would be.
I saw a movie like this once. A man was driving through a small town and his car was wrecked. He had to stay there until his car was fixed. And of course, he met someone and fell in love. and of course he stayed and they lived happily ever after. However, that part is not for me. I am fine in that department.
I want to find someplace where they celebrate the fireflies when they come out at night. I want to find a place where lemonade is the drink of kindness. And people share. They say excuse me.
I want to see if they have one of those old churches that’s been there since the 1800’s and people still go every Sunday. They go and they smile. They shake hands or hug one another and say things like, “Peace be with you.” and they mean it too.
There is enough strife in the world. There are enough arguments. There are too many opinions and too many people that believe they are right. There is too much fighting going on, all at once. There’s too much ugliness. Too much hostility.
I want to find someplace that is different. And I want to picture this place in my mind. I’m not sure if this place really exists. I’m not sure if this town I imagine is even real. Maybe it doesn’t have to be. And if you are with me on this, maybe you can see this place in your own mind. See, that’s the magic of this place.
I suppose this is just a trip I take in my mind. I see myself on the train. Sometimes, I see this vision. I detail this to the best of my ability. I look for a weeping willow near a stream. I think about the tall grass and the quiet breeze, which is warm. I think about the quiet little town this sits in.
I see this as a symbol.
You had a dream once. You told me you were living someplace where there was a little stream and there was a big weeping willow. You were happy there. You told me so.
“It was so peaceful,” you said.
I was told to allow today to be sufficient for itself. I was told that life is not always an easy place to be. I was also told to be honest because I had to get ready for corporate America, when meanwhile; corporate America is a lot of things but honest is not one of them.
The waters can be murky at times and the sky can be cloudy. But either way, sunshine or rain, I know there is something out there for me. Maybe it’s a good slice of peach cobbler. Or maybe it’s a bowl of soup that goes down like no other. Or maybe it’s a family I can send letters to.
Does anyone remember letters?
We used to write them by hand.
Grandma used to sing a song about this.
She’d sing, “I’m gonna sit right down and write myself a letter. And make believe it came from you”.
I haven’t received a letter in a very long time.
It would be nice.
To get letter, I mean.
I hope the weeping willow is as beautiful as you dreamed it would be. I hope the stream is as perfect and the peacefulness is as gentle as a lullaby in the clouds. I hope the grass is as soft as the grays in God the Father’s beard. And more than anything Mom, I hope you can hear me.
I hope . . .