Visions of creek wading, fish-hook baiting, horseback riding, girl kissing, tree climbing, “bear-hunting”, football playing, tom-boy days flood my memory.
On my horse, in my cowboy hat, age six, watching my shadow on the ground, I WAS Dudley Do-Right, the hero, not the damsel in distress, Nell, who always seemed to be tied to a set of railroad tracks.
bouncing off freshly bailed hay
in the last precious moments
as the crickets sang,
and fireflies awaited
their glorious entrance.