Memories of Life

The world would be a better place without leaf blowers. There used to be rakes. They were used to silently sweep leaves into small piles which could be picked up and placed in trash bags. When I was a kid growing up in Detroit, my father, bother and I would get out there on Thanksgiving morning and the three of us would rake up a big pile of leaves and place it just off of the curb at the end of the driveway. In the years before they made burning leaves illegal, my Dad would light a fire and burn the pile off into the crisp autumn air. I can still smell the smoldering mound. Then we would all go inside and watch the Lions game.

Memories of life. Popping up here on my blog from time to time, so that some day my daughters will have a piece of their father to remember and maybe show to their children, who maybe will ask about a photograph on a table or discovered in an old album.

There are some things that are felt but never said. Some questions that get asked, for which are no answers.

Why didn't this one work?

"Your head just inches from my own, your toes cradled beneath mine. Your breathing slow and measured. You lay beside me, safe, content and deeply asleep. Ever so gently your hand slips into mine. Loosely, then tight, then loose again. You are drifting, immersed in some far away dream. Quiet lovers, in soft cadence, intertwined. I could have stayed forever."

These moments I write about; No finer gifts could ever touch my life.

But stories always end,
And if you read between the lines,
You'd know that I'm just tryin' to understand
The feelin's that you lack.
I never thought I could feel this way
And I've got to say that I just don't get it.
I don't know where we went wrong,
But the feelin's gone
And I just can't get it back