Youngest son is turning 18 this year. I turn my back pages and remember. Sitting below my parent’s house. On a cement ditch. My friends and I were surrounded by trees and weeds and the smoke from the same. We were turning 18. It seemed so old. So very very ancient. Our youth was dim memories. Now I look at youngest son and think how young his age is. So very very young. A flip-flop in perspective. Funny how a song grasps a feeling over time and generations. It’s been with me most of my life. This song still holds the magic of knowing life.
The Seminary of Praying Mantis Publishing 