Death Apart.

There is that June Bug crawling deep with in a field of dry grass. I love that June Bug. Any other insect is a pest.

Combing the fur of a large dog, that has innocent eyes.

That wet, dusty smell as it first begins to rain during the dry season in Montana.

A soft touch of fingertips along the back of my neck.

To stop acknowledging time, while someone gently strums music to an acoustic guitar.

Some one trying to suppress their smile while blushing.

Trust from a child.

An image of endless golden sand under the deep blue sky: The sky, like I remember the beauty of it when I was a kid. I would be outside, playing by myself in the lawn. Usually under the tall pine tree, pushing toy cars in the dirt, or being on hands and knees observing a honey bee. Rainy days I would be in my room, lying on the bed, studying pictures from a children book.

Then I didn’t look for fun, it was always with me. As a child I had no concept of time. I rode my bike until dusk, and then I go inside and watch television. Even then I did not comprehend the lengths of the programs I was watching. I just knew I hated commercials, as I would verbally argue to the T.V. that the products were not as good as they say.

When I was three or four, my brother rode his bike with one hand. He was five or six. He had something behind his back and was smiling. He stopped in from of me, to give me a gift he bought at the garage sale, from down the street. A Smokey the Bear backpack. I loved that backpack.