Old Glen passed on, and on the way he said he wouldn’t miss us,
but he will, because I stuck a cell phone in his pocket and it’s working.
When I’ve a mind, I’ll ring him up and ask him what’s it like up there
in Country Bliss, where all the birds can sing on key and tap three toes.
If he’s a mind, he’ll lift his Gibson – they surely have them there (but
nary banjo) and he’ll sing so clear we’ll hear it down in all low Valleys
Our ears will pop.
If he’s of mind, he’ll flick those strings and look back at his startled bass, who half-expected angel bands or such, and say we’ll speed this up right here.
Don’t think about this much if you don’t read Bibles. Lots of things in Arkansas make sense if one just watches the daily sun, because so much goes on between daybreak and when all work is done.
And if above the clouds, a cell phone rings and birds start tapping toes and singing in contralto or more simple stuff, and breezes come returning, take a moment from your time, and listen as I am doing part way up.
Allow the mountain valleys to ring around and down to meadows of your home when you return.
And why can’t such be happening between us?
