Into the Mystic

I sat on my back porch swing, the wind barely a whisper, as I take a trip into The Mystic with Mr.Van Morrison.

We were born before the wind
Also Younger than the sun
Ere th Bonnie boat was won as we sailed into the Mystic

I lay back and take in all Spring has to offer. The Dogwood’s blooming white crescent moons, dandelions spreading like wildfire, and cricket’s singing me a sweet lullaby into the baby blue sky. I am in harmony with everything around me.

I let my mind wander. My thoughts scatter and run. They head straight for my childhood.

I am six-years-old riding my pink, Barbie Bike down a gravel road, dust flying everywhere. I am wading in a creek with my cousins, looking for crawldads, the cold water lapping my bare legs. I am in the hills, I grab hold of a grapevine, close my eyes, and take off swinging, cutting thru the sky. I am flying high. I am as light as a feather. I am free.

And when the foghorn blows I will be coming home
And when the foghorn blows I want to hear it
I don’t have to fear it
I want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
And together we will float into the mystic..

Thank you, Mr. Morrison for the ride..

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