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the solitary soprano voice that cries so wild the haunting silhouettes that shift against the sky against the flaming sunset the aching loneliness and the vivid tenderness of vast nature the throbbing golden sweetness of the guitar twang brimming with so much honeyed mature love the scene against the dusky bright sea that awakens the whole earth's nerves to sing you hear the song pulsing toward the horizon the scent wafts by oh its tendrils sketch the scene of long ago it draws with a sudden smoking pencil, the rich living atmosphere woven by years ago imbuing culture with more than genealogy and physical pattern and the artist trying to

I am eight. My friends come over for the evening. I anticipate the night with bursts of energy, prances and shouts. When we come, life seems a little fuller; it's as if the heart of the earth pounds hard with our games of hide and seek, hot and cold. Who knew the power simple games have to captivate. Hours pass. We dangle on the wings of the moment and the lights shine in all our eyes together and our smiles shine across the warm electric glow. But the clock in the kitchen is a signpost from reality. My friends and I shout a warm exuberant goodbye; the car recedes down the road I feel the full impassioned joyful moment steadily slip byR