60.

[a road in durham leading away from a sweet ladies home tuckered away in the forest]

.tonight i'd like to pay tribute to the highlights.

here's to the one that in his boyhood confused the locusts for city sounds, and found his truth outside of the concrete jungle, next to the singing of the grasshopper and the flickering of the firefly on a porch in north carolina.

and to his girl who he adores, who revels in the joys of reality, gracefully bows to the terrors it imposes, and laughs in the face of "growing up."

then the bearded one who's magnified eyes stare through this little soul of mine with years of experience which have taught him how to tame my wild fires.

my spanish mona lisa, nagging and prissing deep deep into my heart song, reminding me of how far i've come from 15 year-old porch sessions.

the soulmate, the inspiration, that disappeared for too long and reappeared as a grown-up, giving and taking and creating the world that he desires...that now welcomes my distant showers of pride and approval.

the strongest one was there too - she walks with her head up, back straight, hair curly, but not in the way that tries to convince you that she is soulless. no, not her, she is driven and focused and her heart flies on a banner at the center of it all.

my motorcycle driver, traditional taster, and good time man. my main squeeze in the world of boy.friends (that is, my friends that are boys) this one has a heart on him, folks and may be the only man i've ever met that breathes truth and clarity to the ambiguity of my daddy's "now that's a good man" description.

the one who forgets sometimes just what a gift to this world she is. her honesty and integrity provide me with the revitalization that the shade of an old oak can give any field hand on a georgia afternoon in august.

then the cowboy, the new guy, the one who welcomes catfish metaphors, basked in the glory of ridiculous humor, and brought with him buckets of learning and listening. he's a teacher, and a good soul, and a damn good songwriter.

the venezuelan-alabaman dance partner, who waltzed with me 'till well past my bed time at the truest ole' honky tonk in nashville. spinning me round until the smile on my face was shining brighter than all the neon lights on Broadway.

my mama was there too and there is no equivocal pronoun to place upon her. she is just the good stuff in life, like licking the icing off the spoon, or putting cucumber in your water. she is the foundation that never wavers and she believes in me the way a preacher believes in sunday (and the offering plate). she is better than all of it.

my dad showed me another side strength and another side of living and dying on this trip home. i'm taking a lot of stories, but primarily when his mama told the man who was taking her farm that if he could live with it, she could live without it. i'm pocketing the memory of that gritty southern wit the burns to the bone, sears the heart, and reminds you that God might just be frowning on you...that's my treasure this time.

my heart is still wandering, but floating more often than sinking.

sully cat is at my feet and my head is aching a bit after sleeping on the soil for the past week.

it almost...almost feels good to be home.