Summertime

I have been pondering about the future. Can I actually say “pondering” and still sound authentic? Anyway, I digress, which seems to be a large problem of mine, I mean digressing. Why is it so easy to obsess about the past? The known aspect coupled with that hindsight thing makes it simple to re-live, alter, view in microscopic intensity and rely on the past. But should it be such an obsession? I’ve tried to learn from my past lives, gain insight and become a better Human Being and try to move forward. Letting it go and moving on. Yet still the past is what I reflex upon, the touch stone of today’s questions. Looking backwards becomes the safe and easy way to judge the future and projecting the past onto the fog of the unknown tomorrows create a path of least resistance.

Summertime
And the livin' is easy,
Fish are jumpin'
And the cotton is high.
Oh yo' daddy's rich
An' yo' ma is good lookin'
So hush, little baby,
Don't you cry

I’ve been pondering about the future, all embodied in the word summertime. Hoping that something would carry me away and get me living. Easy living, idyllic Maxfield Parish images with resounding glossy sparkling light lazily dappling thru leaves. Where life is slower, sweeter, uncomplicated. Quantum tranquility and seas adrift with laidback smiles. The music floats through the air past clean white linens soaking up the sun on backyard clothesline and the interconnectivity electrifies and glows in crimson sunsets.


Summertime
And the livin' is easy,
Fish are jumpin'
And the cotton is high.
Oh yo' daddy's rich
An' yo' ma is good lookin'
So hush, little baby,
Don't you cry

Ice tea and lemon aid, warm breezes bustling chimes. No need to busy oneself. The future rolls in, a hot breath on one’s neck and limbs sweating as the dance plays. The night, naked and willing, lying on grassy fields waiting for the frolicking stars to awaken. And picnics and beaches with sand in your shorts and the back seat of cars are the adolescent dreams that form our days from the fragmented chances that skip in front of our eyes. Bath water warm ponds of infinite blues create mirages in the fabric of time. And the melodies of the birds make all soar with thrill and anticipation, like a chemise slowly being removed only to be tossed into the sky.


Summertime
And the livin' is easy,
Fish are jumpin'
And the cotton is high.
Oh yo' daddy's rich
An' yo' ma is good lookin'
So hush, little baby,
Don't you cry
.

No demands, no worries, no problm mon. All is right and available. Vacations are endless and mountains of time free the soul to fly to the moon and return. None for the want and every moment is a day in paradise. Drudgery is transplanted with euphoria. And life is like a ripe and juicy peach hanging from the tree desiring to be picked.


Summertime
And the livin' is easy,
Fish are jumpin'
And the cotton is high.
Oh yo' daddy's rich
An' yo' ma is good lookin'
So hush, little baby,
Don't you cry


Lullabies, whisking one away into dream worlds where all is beauty. Promising futures shine as brightly as streetlights against the backdrop of country roads. All is happiness in the quite embrace of a lover’s arms and the still rustling of the warm breeze through the trees. Summer come and find me now. Then suddenly the clouds past infront of the glaring sun and in the shadow light of the day one sees with perfect recognition the dingy film of reality. The future becomes unidentifiable and mysterious. Yet thru the misgivings a voice sings out and reminds you of what use to be and gives you hope of things to come. The past arrives again.