She moves in this vision delicious - there is a setting for this, the afternoon - full blouse in the wind swings on shadows against the wall veranda silhouettes beautiful in her black dress she is filling the sun her youthfulness she nibbles her lip corner biting away years between us at least sex is not everything ? - When we tell the story it's never the same, as the story goes - I remember Treaty Oak where Osceola spoke, I climbed its branches in childhood, was 5 years old at 1428 Alveras Street 500 feet from the St. John's River, flowing North - When we tell the story it's often Dreamtime, as the story goes - we fraternize with him & her, "where are you when I need you", they say - The way is very clear : we age. we middle-age. we're older yet. the world is more complex in our eyes, no longer right & wrong, clear cut, the price of truth misty ! The Old Man says the spirits tell each flower gives a scent, has its own scent, owns that scent - the names we use to speak of it we own, has its meaning in what we own - to know this secret is tricky indeed, The Old Man says, the scent is there without us, Or so that part of the story was told in the Springtime, The Old Man says, in the Wintertime another part of the story went another way - in the Summertime the small corn-shoots sing, reaching leaves toward the sun the MotherEarth warm cradles the roots, or so the story goes told over and over so simply without us being there - in the Fall is harvest - we eat the corn roast store corn for Springtime we tell stories so simply we are there in every way as always - And there is Winter, so simply, The Old Man says, Tomorrow we will be the spirits come in dreams no earth we walk upon - Today we are dreamers - we know what it is we are given to do ? we speak so sure - we do - truthfully - don't we ? , The Old Man says, continuing to me, how do you, passing ideas, how do you, grow your crops. how do you, know sunrise sunset time to plant seeds, The Old Man says, continuing on the calendar the wind swirls the desert.