Epaulets on his shoulders,
I remember the cocky strut
of the redwing blackbird
beneath the grain bucket
mornings when we saddled horses,
back when we had a pond,
wild ducks and nested cattails,
but not enough water
to watch it evaporate—
and I miss them, miss the
mallards come the gloaming
on whistling feathers
with bellyflop landings
to safely spend the night.
It’s all about water.
drycrikjournal 
How many times do we say, “those days were the best” and not wonder if it is simply an old man’s lament????
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Rules and regulations, albeit less awareness of the bigger picture, we ran
loose with adolescent exuberance. And what a fine time that was. It is an
old man’s lament, not having solid opportunities that no longer exist outside
the house or office. And when we screwed up, usually a small mistake absorbed
by the 60s. Perhaps not the best times, but good enough to recall and share
with ample editing where necessary.
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