A Voice Drying Out in the Desert

A Voice Drying Out in the Desert

I found a photograph of my grandmother taken over 70 years ago. Looking into her face, I became nostalgic for the times my father was alive. Only snapshot images of him remain. He spent most of the time when I was growing up on Army duty posts overseas. Only one strong image remains. His mother’s picture.


I sat thinking about my grandmother when I heard voices outside my window. I looked down and saw a group of boys in baseball uniforms talking and laughing. My mind shot back to a time when I was a boy seventy years ago. Blurred and distorted, the images streamed through my mind.

View from Six Stories Up

I don’t always dwell in the past. I went out with a former student, now a university professor. A delightful woman and a scholar. We ate at a fiery eating establishment.


Fascinating Flames

The following day, I escaped from my writing cage and went to Antenna America near Yokohama Station. I took a selfie with my new iPhone SE second generation. In my aging frame of mind, I considered my photo amusing. Imagine my disappointment when my grandchildren yawned.

Kermit with Seth after too many drinks

Drinking usually makes feel maudlin — guilt-ridden Religious training in my youth crops up in memory the older I become and the more I drink.

Crucifixion embedded in the Subconscious

But yearnings distract me from my religious fervor. I observe young people in the throes of passion. Ah, to be young again.

The Kiss on a moonlit night.

A kiss in the dark witnessed by the moon shining and by my prying eyes. The scene reminded me of a song Tony Bennet sang so long ago.



Alas, once upon a time never comes again.





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