Nightfall westbound eighty-five hundred feet
Over eastern Wyoming.
Moonless now, Flight Service cheerfully provides the altimeter,
But ignores my asking the phase of the moon;
They will soon be jobless.
The Wind River Range,
Eastern ripple of the Rockies,
Invisible in the distance.
At twelve o'clock, softly shining, just a dim glow,
My Pearl of the West,
Silent beacon, sweet and twenty,
A wide left hook of time and space would take me to her,
Through New Mexico, Tucson, San Diego, San Francisco;
Russian River gulches, chicken sheds, banana slugs;
Deep hypnosis, healing groves, hallucinogenic desert ridges....
The Pearl of the West,
She was my silent beacon,
Treasure trove of love,
For my Body, Heart, and Spirit....
~Written by Milt on August 22, 2010
about his flight that brought him to California
almost thirty-three years ago to the day.~
~Found by Lea on January 15, 2011...
a love note through time and space.~
I love you Milton...
with all my
Body, Heart, and Spirit.