Bobby McFerrin. Dark sunny circles. Bent sky leaning deep over the ocean. Music. The beat drives my typewriter. Smiling. Raining. Sunshine. In the lake. The trees. Parched, dry, death valley days. Ronald Reagan smiles down upon us all. Knowingly. Remembering all.
We wait for the door to open. The phone to ring. The alarm to beep, peep, beep. Awake to what is before us. Behind us. We wave as we climb our mountain and stop short of heaven. Bearing the moment. Grabbing the moment to run. The crowd screaming. In the end zone we look around.