The beachhead was established early in the spring of 68 on the shores of a small lake in Northern Ontario – OOOPS… that is a whole other story.
I know that nothing lasts forever; certainly I won’t.
So every day I dream of running once more into a rising sun, reminding myself of the old stories, and letting the faces, and the remembered graces of the people whom I have met on this journey come back to guide on the run. Running happens in my dreams these days more often than it does on the streets. Maybe that can change. We will see. I’ll let you know.
I head out into the day with the the sure and certain knowledge that as ever, I have got shit to do and that my time is slippin’ away.
I’ve got shit to do and the time is slippin’ away, hmmm… I told my editor that most of what wanted to be written by me these days did not readily fall between the covers of a “Tarmac Meditation”. In fact, I said lately I have been to places where there are no roads at all and damned little direction of any kind. He told me that even so, I was missing the point; the tarmac was right where it was supposed to be, pointing to my heart. I said damn, I guess that means I still have to write something and submit it.
Photos by Michael Lebowitz. All rights reserved.