Blow Me the Right Way

My eyes move wildly, looking down the amicable street of the old neighborhood. The wind blew on me, pushing me to move forward down a road that yields my old house and friends and the sentimental fragments of my former life. The wind and cold air wraps around me as the earth spins, spawning new seasons and nights and days.

I look into the sky which is now dark. Back onto the street full of cars are people who I knew not personally. The neophytes to the world and the toddlers and children by their parents who were the sons and daughters of the people I knew before.

The wind pushes me forward in the night of the fourth of July and lifts me through the sky, allowing my legs to dwindle and kick, but they do not. I am still and I move over the blocks of cements and by light poles that vanguard late night neighborhood activities.

The house of white frames is at the end of the set of eight houses, but my destination is elsewhere. Fireworks ignite and blow brilliant sparks above my head as the wind lets me down onto the doorsteps of a brown brick house I once knew.

Laughter arises from the backyard and I find my way to find a family enjoying the night’s weather. A daughter feeds her baby and laughs to another mother who converses with my wife. A son reminisces of me and I listen contently.

My picture sits next to the grill and my recipe creates the smiles on the faces of the people who know me best. Above them is the moon which I knew before and now posthumously. God takes care of them I know and the winds lift me toward the sky and He protects me too.