My mind wanders..... sometimes to memories, sometimes to dreams...

I want that brand new blue Dodge Challenger SRT8 with racing stripes on the hood. I would add a license plate that reads "Try Me", throwing the 6.1-liter Hemi V8 in your face! I would drive that car on the open highway with no plans or concern with destination. The music would be enjoyed, deafeningly loud, littered with memories of my youth's freedom, flickering like a classic film on the movie reel of my mind's drive-in theater.

I am flooded with images of concerts, County fairs and missed curfews, first dates and holding hands, breaking up before the night is over and laughing with my best friend because he was such a loser (or he is now, because it always made us feel better).

Whim and daydreams beckon me so I veer off the autobahn to visit a small Cafe with forest green window boxes in full bloom. It sits on the corner between scarlet cobblestone roads where fragrant flowers and history peek out behind gated courtyards and secret enchanted gardens.

If you close your eyes you can hear the sound of horse shoes playing music against the stones as they pull a carriage full of camera laden tourists.

I sit up tall and sophisticated, to sip from my beautifully sweetened tea and return to reading a tale of mystery and intrigue while flipping crusty French bread to an over-friendly pigeon.

As the pigeon hops closer to my ankle, I feel the flutter of wings and notice the iridescent coloring painted on his feathers taking me back to a meandering waterfall in a lush tropical location.

A character in the novel busts out of the water, clenching a knife in his teeth, and crawls onto the rocks breathing in heavily and glancing at me to determine my threat level. Smelling the leather of his hat and the must of a mysterious man, arouses me.

I quickly close the book, pay for my tea and hop back into the seat of my waiting Dodge, playing with the strength of the motor, before watching the Spanish moss dance in the wind as it hangs from 100 year old oak trees that canopy over the winding road I am traversing.

The air turns salty and the sky changes in hue to a prismatic array of sunbursts and clouds puntcuated with seagulls scouting the shoreline for food.

The silhouettes of surfers running into their utopia makes me long for mine. Wayward beams of heated light tickle my nose as I park on the beach to watch the sun evaporate into the horizon. The radio is tuned to an oldie station that plays the riffs that perfectly accompany a bon-fire and the conversations that go on around it. The wood crackles contently, letting the fire offer its warmth to us.



I smell the green of a forest and settle back into a lawn chair in the woods until I feel the sting of a mosquito and jump up spraying skin-so-soft on everyone within 10 feet of me to protect them.

Sparks fly above the fire, but they seem to meander away, circling little hands holding jars with screwdriver holes in the top, primed to catch fireflies. The lure of chocolate entices and I kiss it from your lips as you offer me a bite of an expertly put together S'more.

The taste is smooth and sweet reminding me of the honeysuckle I collected in Georgia while hunting reptiles and amphibians with my brother. We'd amble over rocks and through little rambling streams being bitten by rogue crawdads and playing tag with the minnows.

Another reel plays of a childhood with more bad than good, I have turned the movie off at this point.

The traffic light turns green and someone honks to alert me of their hurry.

I slowly pass by that 2010 replica of a classic car sitting on the lift at a dealer's lot. My dad had one, an original model in slate blue, it was his first treasured auto. I can see the tattered picture of him standing beside it proudly in a white tux, clearly in my mind. I smile and thank him for everything he did to make me who I am, even through the turmoil.

I drive off in my PT Cruiser, taking the kids for Ice Cream and a few rides on a park swing, hoping to create another memory they will look back upon and smile.