-by Bill Watkins 6/18/2017
Mixed bag, like anywhere in this savage land most call “America.”
You get by the roads, cement, asphalt and tracks—the cigarette butts and wayside bars to marvel at Mountains. Wind. Sky everywhere, and clouds that at once threaten and entertain, swirling at play,
Soccer fields with snow-capped mountain backdrops, old west saloon facades selling thrift and high quality art.
Book stores and hip; music abound.
Bad news travels slow until artists collide; a moment with talented Montana master, Sheila Hrasky shows me Picasso colored West, but I learn of tragedy.
Last year children ended their lives in suicide, so now I read—an adult or two drowning as well.
Shades of Los Angeles and a former life I led in Pasadena, California seems relevant. I survived two overdoses and years of suicidal depression to come here—15 years sober full of hope, writings, dance and song!!!!!
The Devil is gone from my life, Coach Longfellow teaching me to be a hero in the strife!
Alcohol is a cold friend. A backstabber up and down Main, Park or wherever deceived.
Walk out of the bar, turn from evil, and feel your pain…
(There is no joy without it, Montana)