Shirt
Shoes
Jacket
Pants
Dance
Hat
Cat
Fever
Wonder
Under
Over
Out
Again
Again
Again
Where does it end? Where does it begin? How many miles of this high desert sage wasteland must we walk before we find the end of the rainbow? Is there a rainbow? Doesn’t a rainbow need rain? I’m certain it certainly needs some kind of puddle or a lake or, at a minimum, some tiny stream of water flowing down from some higher point in the hills that likely stands in as some metaphor for the dreamers and the lonely hearts and the high school kids that find themselves wondering time and time again about what exactly it is that this life is going to bring after the comforts of the institution have escaped them. In that space long after the hallways are empty and the Friday nights are no longer filled with football games and warm beers at the home of that one who’s parents have left town for the weekend.
Or.
Perhaps the answers to all of life’s question lie somewhere in or around that beat up old trailer that was parked by the river underneath that bluff? Perhaps there is some age old wisdom in the ignorance and misunderstanding of youth? I am not, however, convinced, at this middle age of mine, that there are answers to any questions about these matters. There certainly aren’t road maps or printed directions or instructors standing by the road ready to assist. There is no fancy watch that will tell us the turns by the each and no super internet phone that can guide by voice alone. Our paths are crisscrossed and check-marked and jumbled in their appearance. Or are they?