In the middle of the night, in some foreign city, I woke up after a dream about my friend’s father. Before the dream vanished I got to the desk and scribbled away.
I’m walking over to Al’s home on the street of my youth, Woodlake Drive. His dad, Stan Czarnecki, is tall and athletic—the way I remember him when I was a teen. He’s going to show Al and me some baseball plays. He’s energetic, strong, relaxed, showing us a technique for fielding the ball. In the dream I burst with emotion, knowing that even though this moment has passed, it still remains fully alive in some corner of this big old world. I look around at the overcast sky and the trees starting to leaf, aware that it’s spring. (more…)
Posted in Uncategorized by Fred Tribuzzo with 3 comments.