Oh The Sweetest Winds, They Blow Across the South

I enjoy the perfect absence of sound, when silence is all there is to be heard, and I'm privy to free-formed movement and thought. No ranting or wild speculation about how things are or how they should be. In fact, I need it. I need it to function and process. How we weather upheaval is something that intrigues and challenges me...in the best of ways. The ever-present ebb and flow of consequence and change moves in us and opens the door for reflection. I feel somewhat compelled to mention that. It's in the perfect absence of static that rationale comes into the fold.

An older family member that I greatly respected passed on and moved into greener pastures today. In the midst of the crowd, he kept, with perfect sweetness, the independence of solitude...in that, his soul wasn't swayed by the incidental or unforeseen. He held his core and he held it tightly no matter what life sent his way. I have the highest respect for that. An unwavering loyalty to yourself, and your ideals, is something I strive to emulate, no matter the consequence. Everything he did was with zeal and empathy. Even if it was something as simple as reading a book, or engaging in menial conversation. That's respectful. This was a man who worked as an engineer in the Navy and helped build the runways for the Enola Gay in the Philippines. He married the love of his life, endured after her passing, raised a wonderful family, and extended his tranquil soul to all those he encountered. He was a sweet man, and he lived a life of virtue and cordiality, employing an unrelenting humor and serenity. He was from the dying breed, and while his part in this story is over, there's a security I feel from having known him. It's a blessing to live a full life. Enriched with every sense of humanity one can encounter. It's a blessing we can all hope for before our own card is pulled. Life is happening all around us. No matter where we wander.

He was one of the good ones. I raise my glass.

Unfailing Loyalist

Everyone within earshot is wondering who's directing this here symphony. Driving down habitual impulses can be a heavy charge. I feel change, and I feel like I should change or be left in the silence. A moment before, where you could see everything luminous and clear has suddenly become a disjointed haze. Something akin to wiping the fog off a window, but the fog won't wipe off. It's on the other side of the glass, it seems. There's some type of metaphorical gun pointing it's shaky crosshairs at my forehead right now and I don't know where it's coming from. The aim is quite unsound. I don't know where to hide or even where to shoot back, or if I should do either. They don't hand out medals for bad behavior. In any case, most courageous acts occur where no one else sees or bears witness, and even the decisive act that leads to it is done somewhere in silence.

I always leave a light on in that window. I don't know why.

I hate to ask you this, but could you sit right there while I settle an old score?