COME ON, COME ON

It was late summer, August sometime.
We had gone to the Humboldt County Fair.
Sun setting,
Driving down 101 thru the Redwoods,
Headed back to camp,
The kids in the back asleep or drifting there soon,
The noise and activity from the fair still floating in memory,
Moving in and out of stillness now amidst the sound of the wind blowing thru the car.
There was music playing, not someone we knew well,
But for some reason this summer those songs were there.
A guitar, rhymey lyrics, a gentle voice that could be sassy,
“Sometimes you’re the windshield, Sometimes your the bug”
A Mark Knopfler lyric, funny so as to break your heart,
And then,
“Some people remember the first time
Some can’t forget the last”
And this thought,
This life, this miracle, this memory, this now
Thank you,
Thank you for everything.