Of Bears and Penguins

The post what I wrote:

These are the words that came to me as I waited in Lee Hills Hall for my friends to call to meet up at the twilight festival.

Picture perfect view in a quiet room with no lights and just my fingers tapping. Peace park, and folks walking and knowing that 9th street is buzzing.

Warm outside, hot and I like it. Windows rolled down, sun roof open and music sounds better in summer. Who was the bassist for Led Zeppelin?

How many thoughts can come and go before the phone rings? Before life calls me from my reverie, here - if a reverie could be had in Lee Hills Hall. And there goes someone with a sizable bare midriff - side to side that is.

Leaving was the hardest thing I had to do, even while driving over the Missouri River in Boonville, I wanted to turn around and go back. As though going back over the miles were going back over time as well.

These are the thoughts what I wrote. Because I haven't written in a month, only edited, tried to direct other writers.

And 22 feels like a lot suddenly, but only cause I'll never go back to the place where I learned to tie my shoes.

And Stevie Wonder just called, so I am off. But this is the post what I wrote on Thursday afternoon.