I lived in town for a moment,
a neighborhood around the Shrine—
Black on one side,
college kids, the other
in a subdivided,
old two-story
peeling paint
we called Big Pink.
Weekend mecca for loud
electric sounds, Janis
and the Revolution wailing—
the street would teem
with strobe-lit kids,
weed wafting sidewalk trees,
trying to ignore the War,
Kent State and the M-16
awaiting graduation.
Landmarks close,
I had no plans to map—
yet found myself asleep
retracing trails
to High Sierra meadows,
bell mare edging
a snowmelt lake,
pine smoke and
a leaky bucket sky at night.
drycrikjournal 
That last verse makes me happy, John, as does that beautiful photo.
janet
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I’m glad, Janet, my pleasant retreat in the midst of crazy times. The Kaweah peaks have remained the same.
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Brings back a time….many thoughts of whether to go or not wafted along the jet stream.
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In retrospect, it seems but a chaotic blip in time. I was blessed to have a summer job away from it all, a hands-on retreat in the midst of political unrest. I was ready to quit school and pack mules for the rest of my life, but didn’t want to lose my 2-S deferment. I wrote a lot of poetry.
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