The warm evening breeze carries the heady aroma of the honeysuckle though the open window. Wild honey suckle. Uncontrollable, growing + covering anything still. 

And the fireflies. 

You cant have a light with out a dark to stick it in.  -Arlo

At a small town community center there were tears on the floor from decades of past Saturday morning posts illustrated by Norman Rockwell. I’ve heard he did not consider himself a fine artist, + he admired greatly those who claimed that title. He was content to beautifully, sentimentally, illustrate - exposing the american human condition at a time when there was much to question. Not much changes.

I will give the nod to J. C. Leyendecker. 

Now the years are rolling by me
They are rockin’ evenly
I am older than I once was
And younger than I’ll be; that’s not unusual
Nor is it strange
After changes upon changes
We are more or less the same
After changes we are more or less the same
- P. Simon

We are back where we start. 
Always struggling to find ourselves right here, right now – missing it.