This is a teaser for a story I’m writing about being a kid growing up in Alaska called “Those sweet orange carrots.” there will more later

I can remember that old fence. Timber posts older than me and rusting wire mesh framing 6X6 swatches of sunlight. The top strand of wire was level with my eyes. Not a very tall fence since I was only seven at the time. It was the smell of creosote drifting from those old posts that first lured me from our front porch to edge of her domain. A scent that was always more active on hot days like today. A molasses sweet smell, that burned my nose while peaking my curiosity. I was inspecting the oozing oil that clung to the posts when I saw her.
Read the rest of this entry »

 By Jimmy Harvey

Koko Pele is my Buddy, I shall not want.
He maketh me to waltz at Cajun festivals;
he leadeth me to the dance floor.
He restoreth my soles, 
he leadeth me to a righteous cobbler in his namesake.
Yea, though I waltz through the valley of Simi,
I will fear no two-steps, for thou art the Boogie man,
thy rub board and thy accordian, they comfort me.
Thou preparest a dance floor before me in the presence of a Cajun/Zydecco band.
Thou anointest my muscles with Bengay,
 my dance-card runneth over.
Surely sore feet and heartburn shall follow me all the days of my life;
and I will dwell in the House of Blues forever.

AMEN

Written by Jimmy Harvey

My spirit goes on walks by itself. Unbidden, unscheduled departures to a place of total contentment. An illusion of lasting bliss when realized flees from me irretrievable. The feeling so warm and rich that it envelops me, a hug from my ancestors. Sun on my face while a cooling breeze whispers through my shirt. Lulling me to sleep but at the same instant so invigorating. Ready to nap while feeling so good. A cool glass of water dumped on my senses while my mind runs through sprinklers. Every detail as clear as a summer sky.
 The place is a memory, maybe. A feeling of belonging yet strange to me. I have walked here before yet no sense of what my next step will bring. Every thing I love is here yet I am alone. Some how though my feelings, my thoughts are shared. With whom or what I don’t know, a curiosity but not a care.
 The soil beneath my feet, moist but not wet. I leave footprints but none of the earth comes with me. The air cool as I breathe it yet warm and comforting on my skin. My body is young and untiring, with an abundance of energy. My mind is clear and unencumbered with worry or concerns for tomorrow. I am here and now and nothing else matters, save enjoying this moment. Time is irrelevant. I have none to save or to spend. My heart is giddy and tries coaxing me to yell jubilation but my spirit shushes that, for this place knows this heart.
 My eyes can see for miles but are owned by a twelve-year-olds attention and imagination. Every bird or bee a fascination. Every ray of light a projector of intrigue, a spot light on yet another mystery. Lost in detail. I see the bee as a bee but also I see the many eyes that make an eye. The little fuzzies that coat cilia with evidence of the bees last stop, nectar to him but ah nectar to my curiosity. I wish to see, feel and smell each petal and stem of each flower of each field this furry little missile visits today. Then a remembrance of the bird and so it goes that off I go again to explore yet another curiouser curiosity in such an infinite way. Colors kaleidoscope from Burnt Sienna to Cyan, all as vivid as a lover’s sunrise.
 My ears hear every decibel, each note of nature’s concert. Each sound richer than the last, each made and played strictly for my enjoyment. The leaves rustle, and branches sway. A dance that can be heard as well as seen.
 My nose knows the potpourri of life drifting on the breeze. That musky moisture left from the last rain. A scent of flowers so faint as a tease. Is it there? No it’s gone, ah yes to return.
 My tongue tastes the excitement in the air. The unrequited anticipation, an electric charge flowing through my blood.
Every sense enjoying its unique opiate. Relaxed contentment yet completely alive and in tune.
 Then as quickly and as uninvited as it arrived it is gone. Was it really an experience? A place? Another existence or just a feeling, a perception. A certain depression takes residence as my senses fade. Knowing I cannot will the feeling back, it is as gone as the melancholy perfection of my first kiss.
 Since my first visit, my spirit has left for many long walks. With each visit I more deeply grasp the nature of the way. I can’t say if the angels visit, a brain cell dies, or another lapse into the sixties has caused my visits to Eden. I am confident however, that Eden is where I journeyed. Was it an illusion, a veil that blurred the nastiness of reality? An incense to flavor the soul. A sunset viewed in love.  All of this a glimpse of heaven, Where you can breathe the water and drink the air, think of the place and you’ll be there. Agape love for everyone, everything, all the time. Soon we all trade this form for that, eyes of the soul that sees it all
 Until then I can go for walks…..when my spirit bids me come.