Just for Fun

Today, this very moment, there are people who want to throw you for a loop, throw you under the bus.

There are situations, yes, situations out there, in the streets of everyday living, where the bad guys in long black coats, smoking the last butt of a cigarette, standing on the street corners, in the first part of the winter, where there has been a dusting of snow, and the cars rollover the sunrise, and the day is blistered with a kind of getting by….once again.

But not you, for you have a heart of gold, a song unsold, a perfection brewing behind your opened eyes.

And all the grays and muted winter colors, all the leave-less trees and cold winds blowing off the white peaks, all the slippery roads and pathways out of town, are triggers, in your emotions as you stand your ground, get to higher ground—becoming, summing up all the pocket change…and you come away with not just enough for a cup of coffee, but for a condo in Florida, a heyday in the smash-mouth events that you so randomly call your life.

Put it all together with a plan, a sandwich and a Cliff Bar and a green drink…and watch the Canadian Geese fly over Non-Canadian Colorado. Hey, they live here year round; how can they be from Canada?

And you begin to think, simmer, start, percolate, elevate  yourself, your mind, your truths, your desires, your realities into a sum total, a consternation on the plains that extent out to Buffalo Bill’s shooting ’em up from North Platte to Cody—where the show still goes on.

And some guy from Wyoming said, “We cannot lower the mountains, therefore we must elevate ourselves.”—Todd Skinner did fall off some Wyoming mountain…but lived without fear.

You are the show going on, the perpetrator of the lost myth, the crying skies, the wonder whys, the place you can get to in a storm, into a frenzy, and still hide out with Doc Holiday in Glenwood Springs.

Today, take all the black and white and roll it up into a kaleidoscope, an infestation of chameleons inside a crayon box, lost on the tarmac of sidewalk color-chalk paintings after a brilliant sunset.

And what else is there to do, but finally get out of your own way and gawk at the surprise, the latest newsworthy sunrise.

Kneel down and pray.  Refresh the website in your mind. Release all doubt and run like a madman into your foggy dream, and come out the other end, clean as a whistle, clear as a blue sky in Kalispell, where the White Fish run.

 Hey, “I’m your huckleberry.”