"For us, our house is not insentient matter—it has a heart, and a soul, and eyes to see us with; and approvals, and solicitudes, and deep sympathies; it is of us, and we are in its confidence, and live in its grace and in the peace of its benediction. We never come home from an absence that its face does not light up and speak out its eloquent welcome—and we can not enter it unmoved."
—Mark Twain, 1896
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Sunday, May 17, 2009

a moment in time

They rode in pairs in a group of about 20. The Harleys roared behind me as together we maneuvered the curves of the shaded mountain roads.

It was a day of wind-in-your-hair, sun-on-your-skin, bugs-in-your-teeth, convertible-tops-down, and radios-up-loud. It was a day of cruising the Coast Highway to destinations unknown. Today we harbored no cares, no worries.

Today was a day torn from the pages of a decade that changed everything. It was a day of: flowers-in-your-hair; Incense-burning; peace-and-love; hippies; Bob Dylan; leather jackets, and smoking pot.




Today I digressed. Today I was the one on the Harley. Today I lived in my moment. Today I lived in 1965.
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