tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271600332024-03-19T00:07:45.682-04:00The Hippie ParadeMy favorite stories lined up one right after another, in no particular order.singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.comBlogger312125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-26765499350908674672014-12-02T21:16:00.000-05:002014-12-02T21:19:55.706-05:00It's raining Christmas, karma, and kindred spirits.....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAzWAbEKDWGfZQuN_JwHGc7ottioSq9rURpzwwDP4sliRfZ2MO_m-twSjwyUu2pdFlF3w3Ev7gQ2W_qmDOPsOXN7GtVys1Y6PI25tVrp7S5kMhvRZjXtdHdufFyveLqGM618V7/s1600/singleton+tourangeau+hippie+christmas+tree.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAzWAbEKDWGfZQuN_JwHGc7ottioSq9rURpzwwDP4sliRfZ2MO_m-twSjwyUu2pdFlF3w3Ev7gQ2W_qmDOPsOXN7GtVys1Y6PI25tVrp7S5kMhvRZjXtdHdufFyveLqGM618V7/s1600/singleton+tourangeau+hippie+christmas+tree.JPG" height="320" width="219" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq62tiCwjNEP7O21Qod2hYCF6455LCWSB0hGPFUHemReRVLrGx3WdaUikFzJ_dzImiTySZBYG03OVVBAoq_j1_U26oXI_z1b-Ok5RhcWf185k_bANmJSLBOeVfTB0XssLcwgbD/s1600/SAM_1218.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq62tiCwjNEP7O21Qod2hYCF6455LCWSB0hGPFUHemReRVLrGx3WdaUikFzJ_dzImiTySZBYG03OVVBAoq_j1_U26oXI_z1b-Ok5RhcWf185k_bANmJSLBOeVfTB0XssLcwgbD/s1600/SAM_1218.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
I pedaled my new- Old little bike to the Marina Post office....in search of some hummingbird spouts... we ordered them for the vintage soda bottles we found on the side of the road.... Feeders for our souls, and the tiny little winged spirits that flutter past us, around us, between us..... and then I did my usual spin...trip...up the steps...."How are you? and "Fine, just fine, and how's your wife doing these days, and the dog, and the flowers you planted in the spring?" Another blessed everyday moment in this Gift of Life.....<br />
<br />
The tiny little box of spouts was waiting for me. The cardboard box swathed in tape, and little birds stamped on the outside. I smiled hugely. And next to it... Another box. Sharon smiled, and pushed it towards me. "Merry Christmas"......she whispered..... How the hell she knew, I'll never know.... but....<br />
<br />
She was right. A gift of love, of sharing, of embracing, of dancing in a Moon Circle....was wrapped tightly in the decorated, stamped, addressed to ME box, and when I opened it, nestled in paisley tissue paper, A River of Friendship, of Old Souls spilled out..... The box was filled with a thousand trinkets touched by fate and fortune.... and more.....<br />
<br />
It was filled with Love.....<br />
<br />
Thank you Kelly .... hugely....<br />
<br />
For reaching out...with the words and the arms of a forever friend....<br />
<br />
Merry Hippie Christmas.....Thank you for painting my world, our world, the forever world with the random Wild Love that makes this world the one that we cherish living in. Peace~love, good, good vibes......<br />
<br />
PS: Yup, those are both my brand new ones:) And yeah, they totally rock!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-74348141695344240832014-11-10T09:49:00.000-05:002014-11-10T09:49:12.618-05:00Will work for Peace.....for Love....for Beer....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Xf88qy-C8UqiSa28i0iBfb3BA1ByCZKheX57Z1DEgkKtc5x2Q3lABZx3W8C5EbRlGhXcAKK6cZ3dR9OTJ6JeLWmxJMVTWGwfSGRIyaPd8dhhCfqYiN2KUVnEKUV2VgnVJ3NN/s1600/work+for+beer+hippie+singleton+sign.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Xf88qy-C8UqiSa28i0iBfb3BA1ByCZKheX57Z1DEgkKtc5x2Q3lABZx3W8C5EbRlGhXcAKK6cZ3dR9OTJ6JeLWmxJMVTWGwfSGRIyaPd8dhhCfqYiN2KUVnEKUV2VgnVJ3NN/s1600/work+for+beer+hippie+singleton+sign.JPG" height="320" width="210" /></a></div>
It's raining. Lazy rain. It doesn't splash when it hits the pavement, it just sits there. Making mud puddles the perfect size for tadpoles. And daydreams.<br />
<br />
I spend the morning sewing prayer flags on my rickety Singer at the kitchen table, Isadora in the windowsill, watching for the sunshine. And Him. Waiting on the rattle tattle sound of his stickered up bicycle, clinking, clanking up to the house. My little Hippie Maintenance Man peddling home for lunch, and later, for the night. For a beer. To our crazy simple life. <br />
<br />
Funny, how less is so very much Better.....<br />
<br />
<br />
singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-49918978765664375472014-02-23T18:54:00.000-05:002014-02-23T18:54:19.149-05:00My Little Gypsy Butterfly....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaqqCUcsrbDPcL3CkR3HHshP_SHQTg7iqUAatZSM8aw68RTITK9ZNr8zATWzl89AV6kxIFAN8XB91FaYgu_n_nh_XdGM1QklW-Hk14HXyjFq3Ijs1zfvSZG2lTs5dmAUXYPVWS/s1600/Mama+Love+hippie+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaqqCUcsrbDPcL3CkR3HHshP_SHQTg7iqUAatZSM8aw68RTITK9ZNr8zATWzl89AV6kxIFAN8XB91FaYgu_n_nh_XdGM1QklW-Hk14HXyjFq3Ijs1zfvSZG2lTs5dmAUXYPVWS/s1600/Mama+Love+hippie+002.jpg" height="248" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The room is quiet....the occasional sound of the Cuckoo's Nest behind the door....on the other side...and the whispering on the inside. Mama speaks in another tongue, endless sentences macrame~ed together by her little fingers flying, kneading, pointing, reaching, touching ours....and we lean closer and listen.....every now and then gathering familiar words like heart shaped rocks, clinging to them like sentimental souvenirs. <br />
<br />
She cries. Frets. And talks to faces only she can see, spirits in the corners...And we shoo them like dusty cobwebs, because she's not ready, and they're dancing in our dirty laundry, stirring up too many memories or make~believes or gonna~be's. They can join the parade later, but not today....<br />
<br />
Today we're butterflies....<br />
and we're gonna rest. Flutter our wings every now and then, just a teensy tiny bit, and snuggle in a little closer....<br />
When she's ready to fly....<br />
She won't even need these silly ole wings....<br />
<br />
She'll be Gypsy free.....<br />
<br />
singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-36104854172048505412014-01-14T20:22:00.000-05:002014-01-14T20:23:38.532-05:00The Butterfly Effect<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIqGu5XLXhY5iK4RHDSeqfns-UVunGNiE89oTnMcsEqMIzI1_2G84D4j4xlRxsvuH4cCVWHfI6lH0nW4cIZlAgDnnjmmIkVmAnBgl2j9MkmYA9iMHq6cDuOugf4Z23EpXdHzVH/s1600/yellow+butterfly+of+san+marino+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIqGu5XLXhY5iK4RHDSeqfns-UVunGNiE89oTnMcsEqMIzI1_2G84D4j4xlRxsvuH4cCVWHfI6lH0nW4cIZlAgDnnjmmIkVmAnBgl2j9MkmYA9iMHq6cDuOugf4Z23EpXdHzVH/s320/yellow+butterfly+of+san+marino+002.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="color: yellow;">It rained.</span><br />
<br />
From the sky...<br />
a gabillion drops free falling, prancing like wild horses on my tin~can metal roof...<br />
and then leaping into sudden death...<br />
or freedom...<br />
flying face first into the muddy earth....<br />
and tumbling wildly downhill<br />
to the river....<br />
<br />
<span style="color: yellow;">Monsoons....</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: lime;">I took a shower.</span><br />
<br />
Steadied my hand on the make-shift rail, leaned up against the vintage vinyl and stood under the warm waterfall....<br />
Crying.....<br />
<br />
Maybe wailing.....<br />
<br />
It 's the seven o'clock sadness....<br />
It just happens...<br />
<br />
Each new day is a gift...<br />
and a Mountain....<br />
and for just a moment,<br />
I have weak knees...<br />
the fleeting moment after you've been cold cocked, but just before you stand up again,<br />
spit blood,<br />
and say "I'm OK"....... <br />
<br />
I should have known she'd be here...<br />
the encore after my hissy fit..... <br />
<br />
<br />
The yellow Butterfly....<br />
<br />
<br />
reminding me<br />
<br />
to <span style="color: cyan;">Believe</span>.....singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-24525010697122258232013-12-06T19:47:00.000-05:002014-02-05T20:23:24.677-05:00The Twisted Trip to here......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg065HP-Cr837-Po6MqMBXPckW4MGje4EVM7bfP-K6J-bev_oin4l2vEqCwDNz6VSqCr6AcI_ADAN4pENLiZrG8yNtcCnHkFsljk6NZRzmc2HF4lG56HsGgOcgzxp2Ij6UXlm2B/s1600/green+springs+day.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg065HP-Cr837-Po6MqMBXPckW4MGje4EVM7bfP-K6J-bev_oin4l2vEqCwDNz6VSqCr6AcI_ADAN4pENLiZrG8yNtcCnHkFsljk6NZRzmc2HF4lG56HsGgOcgzxp2Ij6UXlm2B/s320/green+springs+day.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
We tripped over tree roots....Their sprawling, snaking, climbing age old fingers pointing into the woods...<br />
and stumbled one step, two steps deeper into the peace...<br />
Just the sound of water bubbling, running, falling... <br />
and sticks breaking under our steps....<br />
<br />
<br />
I breathe differently now....deep...and slow and on purpose....<br />
<br />
Because every moment matters....<br />
<br />
And in the midst of insane chaos....<br />
my body a war field...<br />
my mind on fire....<br />
<br />
I feel the presence of the reason.... I can't name it, touch it, explain it....but I know somehow, I was meant to come here...<br />
to fall,...<br />
to tumble....<br />
blindly<br />
into this crazy <br />
wrecking ball...<br />
<br />
<span style="color: yellow;"><b>It must be the butterflies....</b></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-35282854043051311722013-11-04T23:08:00.000-05:002013-11-04T23:09:44.559-05:00Spirit Finder<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIf32QwZrSu9tMPk_9423MjZX-_2JPgCFtVltmT7wKaRgGu-fCT4-a0itgaWyCwypoaXHpjaiZXkFDZNwQs5Kb6Nv_zkxweCbZmFYgx0jcVZy2fOUEODpe_97f8QQCWy5nRvjy/s1600/all+pics+468.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIf32QwZrSu9tMPk_9423MjZX-_2JPgCFtVltmT7wKaRgGu-fCT4-a0itgaWyCwypoaXHpjaiZXkFDZNwQs5Kb6Nv_zkxweCbZmFYgx0jcVZy2fOUEODpe_97f8QQCWy5nRvjy/s320/all+pics+468.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I rode my bike in dusty circles,<br />
sliding on loose gravel,<br />
watching the pebbles fly and skip,<br />
imagining them to be butterflies....<br />
plunking,<br />
hopping,<br />
little winged frogs...... waiting to be free....<br />
And<br />
I listened to you ramble on.....and on...<br />
<br />
<span style="color: lime;">"Do you want to go Blues Night?,</span><br />
<span style="color: lime;">to a steakhouse?,</span><br />
<span style="color: lime;">on a supply run?,</span><br />
<span style="color: lime;">to the Beach?, </span><br />
<span style="color: lime;">do you want to go anywhere anyone has ever named?"</span><br />
And<br />
I don't.....<br />
<br />
I slammed on the brakes<br />
and twisted just far enough to the left<br />
to show off....<br />
and slide...<br />
and slip off...<br />
and almost crash<br />
until I laughed....<br />
<br />
And started to ride again...<br />
into the wind...<br />
and around the corner,<br />
and almost to the river<br />
and back again....<br />
<br />
And I grabbed my little pink fishing pole,<br />
and a beer and some velveeta cheese<br />
and<br />
plopped down at the River....<br />
to hook a lilly pad,<br />
a pile of drunken peace signs and waves from a passing pontoon,<br />
and a nod from the captain of a cigarette boat on idle....<br />
<br />
Because this is why I came here...<br />
<br />
For peace....<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #fce5cd;">and my spirit....</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: cyan;">And I've found it...</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-40598713412071276622013-09-06T09:01:00.000-04:002013-09-06T09:01:07.818-04:00And We Painted the sky......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNhO_WNVnxLm0fNiMbay0KfHYV-lpTlS3Wf_n6LrKHh-xx3nZXdXC2kQBkm5E6LDDL0vrVozm0yDVwvihNkBJ4UiqbcWkCeaBKwM66O5vvJlbwlWYrfbc9jofUDn8DpLB6tJg2/s1600/hippie+singleton+tie+dye+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNhO_WNVnxLm0fNiMbay0KfHYV-lpTlS3Wf_n6LrKHh-xx3nZXdXC2kQBkm5E6LDDL0vrVozm0yDVwvihNkBJ4UiqbcWkCeaBKwM66O5vvJlbwlWYrfbc9jofUDn8DpLB6tJg2/s320/hippie+singleton+tie+dye+002.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidbAsy5jytSd3rBHo1i0IKzO4dQZ-HxkD1ydWG-rMm8AjkZ9JtmvP-Wf_vMUnorEZ8COwOrXl5y6Y89-bGUjI5Aj5typ12UXW8TWne6dzSB3f8FbCQA4ezyfDEF8PlvnlsoTq1/s1600/St+johns+river+highbanks+007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidbAsy5jytSd3rBHo1i0IKzO4dQZ-HxkD1ydWG-rMm8AjkZ9JtmvP-Wf_vMUnorEZ8COwOrXl5y6Y89-bGUjI5Aj5typ12UXW8TWne6dzSB3f8FbCQA4ezyfDEF8PlvnlsoTq1/s320/St+johns+river+highbanks+007.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
They dipped the socks into the paintbucket,<br />
pudgy little fingers stirring wildly with<br />
the spirit stick....<br />
Making mud the color of a thousand eyes....<br />
And<br />
when we flipped the bucket upside down and a dozen psychedelic snakes slipped out....<br />
Their laughter rocked my world.<br />
<br />
And I knew.... <br />
This is the music the God's listen to....<br />
<br />
<span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The Sky and the clothesline on a sweet Summer evening, tye dying with little ones at the river.....</span></span>singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-13384631943643338272013-06-15T21:11:00.000-04:002013-06-15T21:14:38.572-04:00RIP Rumors<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEV7Mb4oHxE1F4xXts-0cqGoxgND5nORtDI0GAe09PLEUPcf3n2SYl_CRD9Zv1BHc5V0gYOto5mVeKVPAZnISXOugHw4ACYdF-Nsx_-V9QQsXNDXQnCYOh7XuWUfCd8gatcS7u/s1600/Rumors+bar+church+for+rent.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" cya="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEV7Mb4oHxE1F4xXts-0cqGoxgND5nORtDI0GAe09PLEUPcf3n2SYl_CRD9Zv1BHc5V0gYOto5mVeKVPAZnISXOugHw4ACYdF-Nsx_-V9QQsXNDXQnCYOh7XuWUfCd8gatcS7u/s320/Rumors+bar+church+for+rent.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I drive by in the dusty five o'clock traffic and I don't see the sign...feel the vibe...hear the loudness of the forever quietness, but something snatches a knot in my soul....<br />
and I feel it....<br />
the empty parking lot ....<br />
the now and forever..<br />
the endings of our fancy little bar stories....<br />
<br />
I fell in love here...<br />
in knee high boots dancing to Eric Clapton,<br />
blowing balletic smoke rings from filtered cigarettes....<br />
and believing in fairy tales....<br />
and the twang of a lover's make believe serenade....<br />
<br />
I broke an ankle here...<br />
jumping jack flash fast to the Rolling Stones,<br />
and smiling<br />
on the downslide...<br />
<br />
I buried a friend here...<br />
Hugging strangers, and selling laughter for dollar donations to bury her in decent blankets and eulogies that dance on...<br />
<br />
I believed here...<br />
<br />
And I still believe....<br />
in the music...<br />
the moment...<br />
the magic...<br />
the magpie fairies...<br />
<br />
It's just that the train has changed tracks...singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-79471102902776005322013-05-21T22:43:00.001-04:002013-05-21T22:45:39.130-04:00Can you see me now?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiORPKj_nYx5T4Wt5Jm4M1-8oCFYHXLH0oRXHg3N8OpBi4hXw1vTQS32_3XEp-jXiNrhcfaWw-Z4P9-C0T5LDmvpC_-oHgYUexol8HH2Kk_uSOxZx6yjK_I3rWBHosLwgb3hHrb/s1600/all+seeing+eye+singleton+hippie+art+011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiORPKj_nYx5T4Wt5Jm4M1-8oCFYHXLH0oRXHg3N8OpBi4hXw1vTQS32_3XEp-jXiNrhcfaWw-Z4P9-C0T5LDmvpC_-oHgYUexol8HH2Kk_uSOxZx6yjK_I3rWBHosLwgb3hHrb/s320/all+seeing+eye+singleton+hippie+art+011.jpg" width="320" ya="true" /></a></div>
Clink....<br />
You're standing on my doorstep...<br />
January rain dripping down your nose...<br />
And I'm <br />
almost surprised,<br />
and not at all,<br />
at your totally o~kay~ness with just parachuting right back into my world<br />
unexpected and<br />
half a dozen years older.......<br />
I offer you coffee and you'd rather a beer....<br />
and I know then what I knew all along....<br />
<br />
<span style="color: yellow;">You're more fun after 5 o'clock....</span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;">And in my imagination....</span><br />
<br />
But, I see you now.....<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><em>Words and artwork (C) Singleton </em></span>singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-66014771443768952622013-04-27T09:40:00.000-04:002013-04-27T11:06:34.526-04:00Spooky little Blues Cruise<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIm47mMZ7Uztn0d58W7gRFYcEcZ-OJOzgMm-Zfa_KLq_kS_ppBI_IeZ3MPXbaoyAEFbon5qYlmIhZxZNo7xslD4NunoKgp0b-v3X3E55N5UJt4jktphtV6nJofFfrDd57ZMYYo/s1600/blues+cruise+st+johns+river+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="110" lwa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIm47mMZ7Uztn0d58W7gRFYcEcZ-OJOzgMm-Zfa_KLq_kS_ppBI_IeZ3MPXbaoyAEFbon5qYlmIhZxZNo7xslD4NunoKgp0b-v3X3E55N5UJt4jktphtV6nJofFfrDd57ZMYYo/s320/blues+cruise+st+johns+river+002.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<img border="0" height="240" lwa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBj30DF4vaoCOkD8Tos4vJP_7kWcQI18FF8qJU5niu6O1kOB1I-YEVQa9E8yI6XXN-VKfv-_TvGOiXUg3u_tRi-88e66b2NzeBtcJ4h92QCcHvAVBtnDSVPq5C9xvA6jYh9Pn7/s320/blues+cruise+st+johns+river+012.jpg" width="320" /></div>
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We drifted....teetering a little to the left, a little upstream, or maybe down, and thicker into the Swamp. Eyeballs everywhere. Giant beak nosed vultures, 1000 years old I'm sure, sat perched at Sentinel Guard, staring down at us....Waiting. Their beady little eyes darting. Giving us the once over, in case we suddenly became just stiff enough to gobble up. </div>
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The banks of this river breathe....and in the quiet...an impromptu drum circle begins....twigs snapping in rhythm, the footsteps of faieries or Big Foot, I'm not sure, dancing....in the forest...the laughter of strangers deep in the woods, the low and thunderous groan of the Gator King....his rheumy eyes cast low, and his crooked smile....slurping up the tepid still waters...waiting...</div>
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We turn up the radio, just a little bit, Luther Vandross for the soul....</div>
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<em><span style="color: yellow;">And still, we can hear the banjo's....</span></em></div>
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singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-76949696735830542702013-04-12T08:54:00.002-04:002013-04-14T21:50:41.557-04:00Coffee with one sugar and all my Dreams<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbF6jVpUSXEmZ7i-LIF2XAYwjaQnlJ_25yJ5aj1jerWaYg7Ox_wnSKwvUUZ_RTWel90syctTD6t3Xo8hSWOtArkRRQe6StisjkD_kktRlvbwUWy9SgljwPXnGKEbSqpwJq7rh5/s1600/singleton+hippie+art+garden+table+003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bua="true" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbF6jVpUSXEmZ7i-LIF2XAYwjaQnlJ_25yJ5aj1jerWaYg7Ox_wnSKwvUUZ_RTWel90syctTD6t3Xo8hSWOtArkRRQe6StisjkD_kktRlvbwUWy9SgljwPXnGKEbSqpwJq7rh5/s320/singleton+hippie+art+garden+table+003.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
It's early morning....<br />
and the sky sits low, <br />
crawling just above the ground...<br />
gray and damp, <br />
wheezing like an old dog<br />
curled on his muddy backdoor rug....<br />
<br />
And yet, it's delightful. Something about it is Old Soul. Comfortable. Familiar.<br />
<br />
The Blue skies of tomorrow are being painted in a secret room above the clouds, and the wild winds of yesterday are parked in the corner....hung over from their willful misbehaviour last night.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: cyan;">Today is Peace.</span><br />
<br />
I park my crickety old self on the park bench and sip coffee in the quiet just outside my door. I breathe better here....<br />
<br />
<span style="color: yellow;">Under the simple skies....</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Words and artwork (c) Singleton 2013 Coffee table courtesty of Merle, green and splattered in machine oil.... just waiting for me to tattoo the spirit of the river smack on it's ruddy surface:) Thank you, new friend!</span>singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-80961775075269477332013-01-19T21:43:00.000-05:002013-01-19T21:43:11.996-05:00The Porch Party and other floating fairytales<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9lh1SwNx-xIaoFgRP7DjURNUdoruBvaECw20bDt7wdlNeeIfqc0usUB_L03zbE7F3vf3sGwnmvmHK30ZZijap65-vlvg5pK3bY7-OMzJydRt2xd1YRwOeJ0r9gCj_e4U46A89/s1600/hippie+singleton+my+hippie+house+park+benches+003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="150" width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9lh1SwNx-xIaoFgRP7DjURNUdoruBvaECw20bDt7wdlNeeIfqc0usUB_L03zbE7F3vf3sGwnmvmHK30ZZijap65-vlvg5pK3bY7-OMzJydRt2xd1YRwOeJ0r9gCj_e4U46A89/s200/hippie+singleton+my+hippie+house+park+benches+003.jpg" /></a></div>
I peek out the little aluminum door at sunrise....watch for wayward wild animals, slithering snakes, strangers....and then barrel out into the morning...
Two black pups...nose to the ground....send me flying past curtain number one, two, three..... of fog,
leaping over little foothills, make believe bridges, potholes...and into the damp darkness of morning on the river....
To Paradise....
To the sun rising over the muddy water....
To the lazy ripple of old water stretching,
rolling over one more time before it has to rise....
And then finally,
home again...
To This...
To Peace Porch
and the promise of another Day....singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-58154233522560069892012-12-31T21:29:00.000-05:002012-12-31T21:29:12.090-05:00Pass the Peace and Prayers, please...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUG1UKro0yg_TzzapGrfjQ3eUcrsG-D2lLLSbXYr1G9u0mZKFtWcN6UFxBlpt0C_dUZfEN2V6aTcPUKcODEnIukfREt1PmjEmSK2CNrLyOhYYdqcSGUZLqGocmt19yX4Ecv26I/s1600/tinker+man+prayer+flags+singleton+hippie+art+09-14+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUG1UKro0yg_TzzapGrfjQ3eUcrsG-D2lLLSbXYr1G9u0mZKFtWcN6UFxBlpt0C_dUZfEN2V6aTcPUKcODEnIukfREt1PmjEmSK2CNrLyOhYYdqcSGUZLqGocmt19yX4Ecv26I/s320/tinker+man+prayer+flags+singleton+hippie+art+09-14+001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I string tiny prayer flags, a kaleidescope of colors, across the morning windows....a reminder to believe, to see, to remember, to be thankful, to imagine, to pray, to be at peace.....And when the sun shines through, their tattered colors dance across my dirty floors...And I embrace another accidental gift...<br />
<br />
This is it....the end of the year I will forever embrace....and the beginning of the one I was sure I would only imagine....<br />
<br />
I've heard tell~tell that how you bring in the New Year is how you'll spend it...and I peek outside for a moment and smile at the tilted moon, quietly applaud the fireworks in a not too far distance, and hum a little Johnny as the old boxcar rolls down the tracks, for just a moment, snuffing out everything but memories and my imagination....<br />
<br />
I look down and the hemline of my flannel PJ's are muddy...proof that a river really is in my backyard and that no matter how many times I wander there, I have to touch the very edge .....have to feel the faint ripple of at least one wayward wake...before I turn around and head for home again...<br />
<br />
I might not make it to midnight....<br />
I won't tear up the dance floor....<br />
trip in my high heels on the way out the door...<br />
No, I won't be Cinderella...this year.....<br />
<br />
But if I fall asleep in Peace, and wake up to the River running.....<br />
I have a feeling,<br />
my year will be very, very Blessed....<br />
<br />
May yours, too.....<br />
Be the Gift....singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-62815858479893718362012-12-24T15:19:00.000-05:002012-12-25T18:30:35.606-05:00The Tin Can Parade<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSatCQawJAfaN6zWcFpInJ2vWxLyiLOKLLWO8FlznSKh9od6BTRUreF_2ig1JzohztlimT_F338KhQGUD-SSjdPiXOULKIi7MFVqJ7T6-T0ImgT1Zfb3xOTGyZW3gOsHQhcp73/s1600/Trailer+on+the+River.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSatCQawJAfaN6zWcFpInJ2vWxLyiLOKLLWO8FlznSKh9od6BTRUreF_2ig1JzohztlimT_F338KhQGUD-SSjdPiXOULKIi7MFVqJ7T6-T0ImgT1Zfb3xOTGyZW3gOsHQhcp73/s320/Trailer+on+the+River.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The water is shallow tonight. Muddy and almost warm, snaking by in slow motion..... And the edge of the sky sways a little....just above the dark forest of skinny little cypress witch fingers....their knotted hands waving.....<br />
<br />
It's a spooky little night...<br />
<br />
And a good one....<br />
<br />
At dark....one by one, the endless strands of lights connect...the electric colors pop, flash, glow and the tiny little tin-can houses dotting the water begin to dance.....a cobweb of extension cords joins neighbor to neighbor, sign post to street lamp....and if you listen....<br />
on this silent night.....<br />
you'll hear the the merry "clink" of wine glass to Beer Bottle....<br />
and sleighbells....<br />
in the sky...<br />
or <br />
in my little hippie imagination....<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqKH8VMQHZvfHxKhrec_NEbpSkiBOW3epFUU6ZCp-vTiRjbql6okxj9WipkFD7kSXzGm0dALUGJtS3FkAmQx7vkd8mz80zgn-iEKEaYra6kDYCd15cMaiBCNlNRREBYU4mlHyZ/s1600/christmas+at+Highbanks+003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqKH8VMQHZvfHxKhrec_NEbpSkiBOW3epFUU6ZCp-vTiRjbql6okxj9WipkFD7kSXzGm0dALUGJtS3FkAmQx7vkd8mz80zgn-iEKEaYra6kDYCd15cMaiBCNlNRREBYU4mlHyZ/s320/christmas+at+Highbanks+003.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Merry Christmas! May the Gift be the moment.....the peace...the love....And may the Circle be unbroken....singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-83513038952456558102012-12-16T19:17:00.000-05:002012-12-16T19:17:36.708-05:00The Colors of Peace<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS3DTonQfFD7kEehJe4B64NFeTIaEgkrxl_7PzpAPhWV-u97D4ICCW4ANbFiaLkOEOLyC-nmaiPtvcI0pD9cSnKqKgo56K12G_nUMcpeNYfvb7nDLZYADw7oLPjuuyQZtpCA5g/s1600/Trailer+on+the+River+12-15-12.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img bea="true" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS3DTonQfFD7kEehJe4B64NFeTIaEgkrxl_7PzpAPhWV-u97D4ICCW4ANbFiaLkOEOLyC-nmaiPtvcI0pD9cSnKqKgo56K12G_nUMcpeNYfvb7nDLZYADw7oLPjuuyQZtpCA5g/s320/Trailer+on+the+River+12-15-12.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
And so I flew barefooted<br />
over the loose gravel and down the damp embankment<br />
to the muddy edge<br />
of <span style="color: yellow;">Peace</span>.....<br />
<br />
Fat ducks waddling before me,<br />
and wet dogs .... nose to the ground and tails to the sky...<br />
trailing behind me....<br />
<br />
This <span style="color: yellow;">is</span> Home now....<br />
where the sky is wet watercolor paper....<br />
soaking up our moods, <br />
our stories,<br />
our fate,<br />
and casting it into eternity...<br />
<span style="color: yellow;">a </span>technicolor <span style="color: yellow;">dr</span>ive-in movi<span style="color: yellow;">e </span>spl<span style="color: yellow;">a</span>shing before us...<br />
The colors of now.....<br />
<br />
Yes, this is Ho<span style="color: yellow;">m</span>e now...<br />
<br />
Where the bugs have tiny motorboat engines for hearts<br />
and the snakes are bigger than make believe....<br />
where our little glass houses are<span style="color: yellow;"> c</span>ell<span style="color: yellow;">o</span>phane tents<br />
and our twisted stories are pepper<span style="color: yellow;">m</span>ints.<br />
littl<span style="color: yellow;">e </span>par<span style="color: yellow;">t</span>y favo<span style="color: yellow;">r</span>s for the passing....<br />
<br />
I click the camera...<br />
savor the cap<span style="color: #eeeeee;">t</span><span style="color: yellow;">u</span><span style="color: #f3f3f3;">r</span><span style="color: yellow;">e</span>d wild sky one more time....<br />
<br />
And remember....<br />
<br />
Every day is the Gift....<br />
<br />
And this one is mine......<br />
<br />
May your sky be as blessed....<br />
<br />
<br />
singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-43116349307137051602012-11-11T21:11:00.001-05:002012-11-11T21:11:57.593-05:00The Afterglow......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiARTINceUPx83ipZlL_KZrTjoWvVB3RciIpjM8RO8bbDFRDL1-ngW3-QjBQR08vRoylQ3MCDjA6fnBzX0Xm2bn2zK3_8XA_9WdmjcOPB1dTnjjmpHPDuBJ1XD5XDLamCTT95ha/s1600/Trailer+on+the+River+008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiARTINceUPx83ipZlL_KZrTjoWvVB3RciIpjM8RO8bbDFRDL1-ngW3-QjBQR08vRoylQ3MCDjA6fnBzX0Xm2bn2zK3_8XA_9WdmjcOPB1dTnjjmpHPDuBJ1XD5XDLamCTT95ha/s320/Trailer+on+the+River+008.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I stand at the dirty edge of this tin~can Paradise<br />
and breathe differently than I have in forever,<br />
or maybe ever before.....<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #f6b26b;">I'm free....</span><br />
<br />
And the river flows north.....<br />
to the Sea....<br />
<br />
<br />
singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-30491406590802765082012-10-18T22:38:00.000-04:002012-10-18T22:38:02.977-04:00Take me to the River<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWlwc8oYHb8dCqRL6wPK_evpAwJ0KR4bK6bVreWID0hZf8alsUzZYG4ClvdV8LvrQ7oVJ819w7AytxvQAoCKe8MYGOlaEKi35g_nOU7GVY_IcJN54aJQJ0arvtsa46aF_sFfvf/s1600/Trailer+on+the+River+005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="308" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWlwc8oYHb8dCqRL6wPK_evpAwJ0KR4bK6bVreWID0hZf8alsUzZYG4ClvdV8LvrQ7oVJ819w7AytxvQAoCKe8MYGOlaEKi35g_nOU7GVY_IcJN54aJQJ0arvtsa46aF_sFfvf/s320/Trailer+on+the+River+005.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I made a little list of pros and cons....<br />
in Giant Sharpie letters<br />
and taped it with Scotch tape to the refrigerator....<br />
and my Brain while I slept.....<br />
I scribbled it again on the back of envelopes in the car....<br />
in Traffic......<br />
Like The Haunting....<br />
<br />
I babbled it into the friendly ears and eyes of<br />
my buddy at the bar,<br />
my Sister Loves,<br />
my children...<br />
Strangers at the post office....<br />
<br />
And then I decided....<br />
<br />
<span style="color: yellow;">I'm doing it....</span><br />
<br />
Moving into a little gypsy house on wheels...<br />
on the River....<br />
the running water....<br />
the setting sun....<br />
<br />
The Hope....<br />
<br />
I'll have to take two steps UP to grab a cold beer....<br />
<br />
And one step out my only door to be in Paradise.....<br />
<br />
<span style="color: yellow;">I don't know why I didn't think of this sooner.....</span><br />
<br />
singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-29460737703300572912012-10-02T21:25:00.000-04:002012-10-02T21:25:44.377-04:00Packing.....up.....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2KzSpto-n4G1iT2csq-umSHgXwXUMCJHQK78q4tvt7ZaqBon0uqqSz5LXXPX54O7Fxfd3ZhnfKwIhOJhWq8-YVgP0V5B4JQVFCB5JvY6K2LNDhiNh3dU1ecPBf_nmx1RjpW3S/s1600/all+pics+455.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" mea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2KzSpto-n4G1iT2csq-umSHgXwXUMCJHQK78q4tvt7ZaqBon0uqqSz5LXXPX54O7Fxfd3ZhnfKwIhOJhWq8-YVgP0V5B4JQVFCB5JvY6K2LNDhiNh3dU1ecPBf_nmx1RjpW3S/s320/all+pics+455.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Team Peace and Team Colors...Corn Hole Boards.....<br />
A few stepping stones from 2001...concrete mixed in a kitty litter bucket and patina painted in the Florida Sun....<br />
Moon Pies Garden Gate....graffitied and tattooed and hinged to swing with our moods.....<br />
A record player and the five albums from after the Hurricanes....<br />
Greg Allman.....Donovan....Charlie Rich....Johnny Cash...and the Allman Brothers....<br />
Two pairs of cowboy boots,<br />
two black Love dogs, a Siamese Cat named Deja and Isadora....the queen of all Felines....<br />
3 psychedelic Samsonite suitcases stuffed with photos.....<br />
Cheetos....<br />
Two pairs of converse sneakers and a pink piggy bank....<br />
a gazing ball...<br />
a bird bath...<br />
Granny Laniers bed and Nana's bamboo bar.......<br />
Some Love Letters....<br />
Three nude mannequins tattooed....<br />
a cell phone charger...<br />
a frying pan,<br />
2 pairs of levi cut-offs,<br />
2 travel toothbrushes, a crock pot, two Margarita glasses, 6 shot glasses, and a new pack of Solo cups.....<br />
A Tent, 7 strings of prayer flags, a cot, and two coleman coolers.....<br />
The Spirit of the Suwanne....the St. Johns....and the waves of New Smyrna....<br />
The Memories....of mudpies....and Moonpie....and Martini Moons...and Rumors....<br />
The Maybes, the wannabes, the I believes.....<br />
<br />
Our Souls....<br />
<br />
For everything else there's yesterday....And all those other happy endings....<br />
<br />
We're running off to tomorrow......<br />
singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-2492755881776144592012-09-26T18:03:00.001-04:002012-09-26T18:04:34.752-04:00Our House is a very very Hippie House.....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I wander around in circles, my fingers tracing memories in big fat summer dust, settled everywhere.... This House, these walls, these stories....painted everywhere......whisper to me...<br />
<br />
And now we're waiting. I touch things. Move them ever so slightly. Echo the little chant..."Keep, pass, toss" and decide their fate in an underwater , upside down state of mind. It's time to Go. To Move on. And to look back, only with Love.....<br />
<br />
I wonder, if like Nadine once said, someone will have to spend a fortune whitewashing these walls, sanding over our carvings, blasting the mosaics from everywhere they turn. If someone will cleanse our house of it's spirit, it's blessings, it's internal tattoo's and I wonder if <br />
for just a moment or <br />
forever....<br />
a tiny hippie haunting will dance on....<br />
in the shadows....<br />
the little creaks at night....<br />
the accidental music of a woodstock wind.....<br />
<br />
Good-bye little house and a gazillion earthly belongings. We're packing up our memories, a few good pair of jeans, two cats, two dogs, a bicycle, a coffeepot, Grannys high poster bed, and Nana's bamboo bar.....and heading to the River....to live in a Gypsy trailer....<br />
<br />
and laugh....once again.......<br />
<br />
In a place called Peace....singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-89400309159790128462012-09-22T19:13:00.000-04:002012-09-22T19:13:36.054-04:00Peace River and the sound of Drums.....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb2aURcHozxl62wtWH2J2PNyvhuS6QPsyW_LobtIdNop7K4rTG99Der4BLUIkNKbRsuQKqkesHz_ok6Rz0B22bOJeCEev_SfTRjblBL92gEtXzbyDZiRm1MJgkm8cebcDKbKde/s1600/lake+monroe+camping+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hea="true" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb2aURcHozxl62wtWH2J2PNyvhuS6QPsyW_LobtIdNop7K4rTG99Der4BLUIkNKbRsuQKqkesHz_ok6Rz0B22bOJeCEev_SfTRjblBL92gEtXzbyDZiRm1MJgkm8cebcDKbKde/s320/lake+monroe+camping+002.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The sound of the Music was rhythmatic...<br />
a lull-a-bye in the tangled trees above us....<br />
leaves fluttering, cascading, <br />
the ruffle of petticoats dancing in the sky....<br />
Old tree limbs rubbing, scraping, <br />
their knotty arms and legs balancing in a high wire act above our sleep....<br />
Fat squirrels, skinny squirrels with Mohawks flying through the air, <br />
skittish little trapeze artists diving, jumping, leaping,<br />
and stopping every now and then to shiver, <br />
and give us their beady little brown eyed wink......<br />
<br />
And bats....swooshing....<br />
gossiping with each other....<br />
whistling in secret languages to the night stars....<br />
Diving at make believe fire flies in the thick river night.....<br />
<br />
A place called Peace.....<br />
<br />
We found it there....<br />
and slept through the pitter patter of the tiny footsteps of 300 pound Boars....<br />
lost and lonely,<br />
but too afraid to cross under the prayer flags, the orbs dangling from our trees.....<br />
too intimated to pass the Spirit of the Dancing Lady ....or wake her from her sleep.....<br />
We found it there....<br />
drenched by Monsoon Moon rains....and ankle deep in tea colored mud.... laughing.....<br />
We found it there....<br />
right out our Real World<br />
and <br />
waist high<br />
in Make Believe...<br />
<br />
It was the perfect campout.....<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-7495689347348203802012-09-11T19:44:00.000-04:002012-09-11T19:44:15.614-04:00The Reflecting Tide....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I blink.....<br />
slow and double eyed...<br />
a lazy man's wink....<br />
<br />
And a gazillion years have passed.<br />
<br />
The grass is up to my knees,<br />
and the wishing pond is a bejeweled frog's farm....<br />
My body aches..<br />
from Time Traveling,<br />
falling,<br />
bumping,<br />
bruising....<br />
forgetting to watch out,<br />
hold on,<br />
count to 10 before I jump.....<br />
<br />
I'm old again....<br />
<br />
I drink my beer cold<br />
and hobble in high heels....<br />
I wrinkle just a little bit more with every summer tan...<br />
I can still party all night,<br />
but it takes me three days to raise my head when the music stops...<br />
I'm in Cahoots with Kimbies...and my baby sister Love...<br />
and sometimes total Strangers that I've known forever <br />
or just a moment.....<br />
<br />
<em>Tonight, </em><br />
<em>when I stopped by to visit Mom....she was playing the harmonica...</em><br />
<em>Beautiful and Blonde and in her very own world....</em><br />
<br />
<em>She smiled with (My very own smile 25 years from now)</em><br />
<em>and for a moment she wondered who I was.....</em><br />
<em>and then she hugged me....</em><br />
<br />
<em>And showed me her circles....</em><br />
<em>Painted and drawn,</em><br />
<em>dribbled on paper towels and canvas and paper back books...</em><br />
<em>Circles with eyes and occassional noses and fins and tails and melting peace signs....</em><br />
<em>Circles with sun rays and stingers and puddles and weeds....And words....</em><br />
<br />
<em>Shes' an Artist, you know.....</em><br />
<br />
<em>And I do know....</em><br />
<br />
<em>So I smiled with My Mother's smile (25 years before today) as I waved good-bye and glanced at the row of glistening Metallic Blue Shrubs lining her porch......</em><br />
<br />
<em>and remembered the little can of spray paint on her dining room table...fluorescent orange....</em><br />
<em>Just Waiting.........on her imagination.....</em><br />
<br />
<em>And me,</em><br />
<em>to follow her footsteps.....</em>singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-41202331585417416682010-12-24T22:36:00.003-05:002010-12-24T23:08:17.496-05:00Love Fast<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVbFqkVBXMeL7n3x8Sok1-WiOwggoFVrngrpeMMSySHixvQpC63jZmXYLcAonhJoPSKxn4Lp7qdZVCPqMes96ox9iNOBUkk4PdcC5pRw23WXhcLI9j1pJowdDQhGJiPojsjaSp/s1600/love+fast+Singleton+Hippie+Art+003.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554459783896623874" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 160px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVbFqkVBXMeL7n3x8Sok1-WiOwggoFVrngrpeMMSySHixvQpC63jZmXYLcAonhJoPSKxn4Lp7qdZVCPqMes96ox9iNOBUkk4PdcC5pRw23WXhcLI9j1pJowdDQhGJiPojsjaSp/s200/love+fast+Singleton+Hippie+Art+003.jpg" border="0" /></a> "I had to squint to find you there,<br />my eyelashes broken ,<br />venetian blinds fluttering in the wind...<br />and then<br />there you were...<br />skinny legs and<br />yesterday's beard,<br />drenched in sloppy beerfoam spray,<br />the Ocean's last kiss ...<br />barefooted and climbing the dunes...<br />back to me,<br /><br />the girl in the sandbox."<br /><br />I stumbled on this tonight.<br />Remembered the very day I painted it.<br />The sudden claustophobia<br />of fat babies and tourists,<br />week-end surfers,<br />sun goddesses,<br />scrunching in closer to me,<br />running from the tide.<br /><br />Remember<br />their make~shift fear<br />of the deep deep waters<br /><div>rising...</div><div>tents and towels rolling,</div><br />sand buckets and sandwiches floating.<br /><br />And tonight,<br />I know,<br />suddenly,<br />finally,<br />what it meant all along.<br /><br />I'm not afraid of the murky water at all,<br />the knee splashing,<br />breath taking,<br />roll me under,<br />kiss the earth tide....<br /><br />It's the low tide,<br />the quiet wave...<br />the waiting waters that scare me...<br /><br />The Peace.<br /><br />I'm afraid<br />that without<br />the struggle,<br />toes scrunched in the sand,<br />seaweed choking me,<br />undertow<br />stripping me<br />down to<br />skinned knees<br />and<br />breathless last moments,<br />Peace won't be all I dreamed of.<br /><br />Then again,<br />I'm tired of dreaming...<br /><br />I'm ready to live...<br />to Love...<br />And I don't have a lot of time to waste.singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-38270279691422734212010-12-02T22:03:00.005-05:002010-12-02T22:50:17.305-05:00Eraser Lips and other secrets<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibixbIkdmWSex7SVWU8yGLgPu04QZIFdPyDC5IWvzhZQTrGFPgjCSSv6AjsnXZAFnVEDkrJcRoxhdnUL53_8ZlYY9Yvpztd8rHwSD98JGw1OSM1p-LhmSjjBc3f8yDL1k6WBxl/s1600/weekend+hippie.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546286990215462482" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 186px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibixbIkdmWSex7SVWU8yGLgPu04QZIFdPyDC5IWvzhZQTrGFPgjCSSv6AjsnXZAFnVEDkrJcRoxhdnUL53_8ZlYY9Yvpztd8rHwSD98JGw1OSM1p-LhmSjjBc3f8yDL1k6WBxl/s200/weekend+hippie.JPG" border="0" /></a> I haven't been hiding. I haven't been busy. Or tired.<br /><br />I've been learning.<br /><br />I've been shedding skin. And sunning naked in my new colors. <br /><br />And I haven't been alone.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ffcccc;">I've buried a friend. Kissed 17 years of laughter and mischief, crooked smiles, and secrets good-bye...I've been waiting for her to answer me, to visit, to rock my world...waiting for her to cross over...waiting for the teensy weensy sign that she's OK. That it really rocks over there. I've been listening to a newfound silence. And suddenly, I realize, that not all my friends will be ghosts...they won't all trip me in the kitchen, haunt me in my sleep, follow me into the corner store. Sometimes, they'll just disappear. </span><br /><span style="color:#ffcccc;"></span><br /><span style="color:#ffcccc;">And that's OK</span>. <br /><br /><span style="color:#ffff33;">When I go, I'm gonna snatch a knot in her ass. </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#ffcccc;">Because I miss her.</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#99ffff;">I've been camping out at The Men's Center. Visiting on Sundays. Sending care packages that get rifled through, and edited, and recorded. I've collected quarters. So that on Thanksgiving we could buy a Coke for a dollar twenty five from the vending machine. And share it. We can't touch, but we can share. </span><br /><span style="color:#99ffff;"></span><br /><span style="color:#99ffff;">I've watched my 5lb 2oz baby boy grow. Into a man. The hard way. </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#99ff99;">And I've prayed.</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#ffccff;">I've had an affair. And called it off. And started it all over again. I've confused comfort with Love. And Love with memories. And yesterday with today. I've settled, and rocked the boat, and tumped it over upside down. I've tested it, and driven it, and painted it every color, including wrong. I've feigned happiness, and forgotten that what I was faking didn't make me happy. </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">And I've learned that to be accepted, sometimes, you have to accept. To welcome open armed the difference. That there will never be the symbiotic sameness that I thought was karmic. That perhaps, in our difference, we can build a bridge...And we can carry each other...</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;"></span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">And that, in that very need...</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6666;">We are the same...</span><br /><br />I've fallen. And blown out my tattle~tale arm. My drawing arm. My tell~tell arm. I can't paint colors without an extra set of hands to twirl the paper. I can't buy beer unless someone I know and someone that loves me will tote it to the car and pop it in my fridge. I can't shift gears, zip my jeans, or open the pickle jar. <br /><br /><span style="color:#ffff33;">I'm lucky.</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">I've learned that:)<br /></span>singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-12565683323724846062010-10-22T00:53:00.003-04:002010-10-22T01:14:29.208-04:00I'm old now....<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid_Daa9D3AfKtsNu5AClan45qyBLTgoBqUx_WJn2IDIQmoc1stimc0le0u7eKeMhoZ4wcB9xc58b9rVOIattNtOoj0EDuMeKN6EK-6OAPJi1oK5PVUb5Q_O-_RBQ4IP5rD0Nwc/s1600/for+a+good+time+singleton+hippie+art+003.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530729755829352098" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 186px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid_Daa9D3AfKtsNu5AClan45qyBLTgoBqUx_WJn2IDIQmoc1stimc0le0u7eKeMhoZ4wcB9xc58b9rVOIattNtOoj0EDuMeKN6EK-6OAPJi1oK5PVUb5Q_O-_RBQ4IP5rD0Nwc/s200/for+a+good+time+singleton+hippie+art+003.jpg" border="0" /></a> And I revel in it...<br /><br />My skin is saggy, a little loose,<br />and Mick Jagger and I have a lot in common....<br /><br />I finally have a beer belly.<br />A pudge.<br />A little love handle, or two. <br />I can still suck it in, but rarely remember to.<br /><br />I snore.<br /><br /><br />Loudly.<br /><br /><span style="color:#66ffff;">Or so I'm told. </span><br /><br />And I'm my Nana's grandchild.<br /><br />I can't see to put on make~up, and didn't wear it when I could. <br />I only date men who are as blind or half again as I am. <br />And in our blurred up, trailing world, where oak leaves are green smears in the sky, and clouds are marshmellows....<br />I'm beautiful.<br /><br /><span style="color:#66ffff;">Or so I'm told.</span><br /><br />The music comes on and I shimmy. <br />I swirl. <br />I twirl. <br />I pretend I'm a barefooted ballerina making love to the Blues. <br />I'm 17 again....<br />barefooted,<br />and tipsy,<br />barely balanced on Chris's coffee table. <br /><br />One day I'll fall off, and break a hip...<br /><br />Break the magic...<br /><br />But until then,<br /><span style="color:#66ffff;">I'm old...</span><br /><span style="color:#66ffff;">and </span><br /><span style="color:#66ffff;">Loving it....</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#ffff33;">I believe in butterflies and beer.</span>singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27160033.post-56385379927052682010-09-29T20:19:00.003-04:002010-09-29T22:26:13.537-04:00The White ShoesI hated to do it. To run the Ad. To field the phone calls. To sit one on one in the lobby and listen to list after list of ' I can do this' and ' I can do that' and 'I could even do your job if you hired me'. I hated to say yes and I hated to say no. I hated hiring someone new as much as I hated losing the old.<br /><br />And when she walked up to the glass door, skinny knees touching, white pumps, scuffed on the toes, and bare legs laced with goose bumps, I groaned. It was 20 years ago, and everyone knew you wore pantyhose on an interview and nobody, no~one but little girls in Sunday school wore white patent leather shoes. And she didn't look like no Sunday School Girl to me.....<br /><br />She crossed her legs, wrapped them together like skinny snakes buckled at the ankles, and smiled at me. I smiled back. Crooked teeth to crooked teeth.<br /><br />And I interviewed her. 'Have you ever done this? This? That?' and she answered in color. Elaborate stories, embellished , I knew, with a twist of lime.<br /><br />Finally, I tossed out the inevitable punch line. "Why do you want this job?" <br /><br />And when she looked at me, blue eyes tearing, swelling, gobs of fat mascara running and answered me, I knew she was hired.<br /><br />"I don't. I don't want it all. I need it. "<br /><br /><br />On her first day, I was late. <br />I don't remember why.<br />I forgot to feed my children breakfast and had to stop at McDonalds,<br />I had to check the coffee pot,<br />I was running on empty.<br />I don't remember,<br />but I do remember her starkly blue eyes, in shock and grimacing at her newfound profession, and her chalky brand new K~mart tennis shoes. She was officially a 'podiatric assistant'.<br /><br />For a gazillion years, we laughed. <br /><br />We shared.<br /><br />We hugged. We hollowed down. We hunkered down. We celebrated, cried, and wrote our names on freshly poured concrete.<br /><br />"I don't know how to dance' she said. And I watched her teeter in high heels on a dance floor, a newborn grasshopper leaping, learning, stretching....until she was free.<br /><br />"I can do it" she muttered. Cigarette dangling crosse eyed from her lips, combat boots on her teensy feet, lugging bags of concrete into my backyard....building a haven for a friend.<br /><br />"Just call me Cinderella" she whispered, cleaning up everyone's mistakes and wiping the soot off her face...<br /><br />It's been 20 years now. She's seen my naked behinny, held my hand, held me up by the armpits when I couldn't take another step. I've passed her paper bags when she couldn't breathe, two more dollars for a lotto we'd never win, and my hand~me~down clothes because they looked better on her. We've laughed til we choked, and cried til we laughed, we've spent money we never had, and had moments together money couldn't buy. We've birthed babies. And babies that had babies. We've raised hell and a whole lotta children. We've worn a lotta shoes.<br /><br />And today I pray for peace. For a martini moon. And her eternal smile.<br /><br />Today I pray for the girl that never ever judged another human being.<br /><br />Because she knew what it was like to walk in their shoes.<br /><br />She wore a lotta shoes in her lifetime. Dirty shoes. Ill fitting shoes. Hand me down shoes. <br /><br />White shoes.<br /><br />No shoes.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ffff66;">Angels are like that.</span>singletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03482545214687731218noreply@blogger.com7