There was reflection on an evening dedicated to Neil Young and seeing his show. A 78 year old dream of a young girl 44. We headed towards Canadian heat and heart of gold and then a notification. A glance in the hotel hallway and the show was postponed, canceled for the night due to illness.
Long gray haired women strutting the streets with their cool husband’s hand in theirs. Where to now? Reflections. Urban hiking. We set our feet down and walked and rambled miles upon smiles to doorways and whims. My self reflected in realizing and smashing and our old heroes everywhere.
A face reflection and a shadow behind. The love making on lakeshore gazing and the windows of human life depicted. My husband adores to see apartment and hotel windows open to view another life, another place, another feed of strangers in action, in repose, in ideas of new beholdings and tired repetitions.
My husband likes hospitals, airports and places lit and lively all night long. And as for me, I like the eye gaze of passing people on the streets of life. Everyone is so interesting. Everyone is so child of God.
Everyone in the city seems to be on their own show, on their own epic journey, on their own path to fruition and no suburban glancing measuring conforming kind of checking on things. What I’m doing, but what I appear to be doing, reflecting, may be different.
Objects closer than they appear and Neil, we’ll see you when you are back around which I hope will be soon and summertime swell. I hope we run long and have a chance to live without war for just one hot blessed second. I hope I reflect on a lifetime of hearing your whine and roar. A crowd roar upon your antiquity string set. An anger only artists can share.
We reflect on you, Neil, with each urban sidewalk mountain of wisdom climbed up scenic and meaty. Our Chicago ready to hold up a mirror and shatter it into all kinds of luck.