F a t h e r L u k e ’s dot Blawg

…the land of honey, milk and decaf

In the morning fog of Santa Cruz, California I see tomorrow, and it is coming as fast, and steady as the notes of Foggy Mountain Breakdown by Flatt and Scruggs.

As I write I’m drinking a decaf. It is creamed up, and with honey. I feel cool mist settling on my cheeks like butterfly kisses from a lover’s eyelashes.

I have missed being home. I have been here just under two weeks, and tomorrow I am leaving. I will miss it; I will miss my home.

The sun is begining to dominate the fog now, but the soft wind still chills my face with a sure, steady breeze, and like the taste of a lover’s breath lingering for a brief moment just after a kiss, makes me want this to be something that will last, and last, and last… .

I drink my decaff, and make a try for my best shit eatin’ grin.

Aloha Baby… I love you.

- -
Okay,
Father Luke

“Mom and Dad made me in Santa Cruz, California on Valentine’s day, 1959,” I told the Dali Llama in a Greyhound Bus Station. The Llama seemed intent on what I was saying to him. “Then I entered this world, in the flesh, on November 7th, 1959 at 6:46 in the evening.”

The Dali Llama smiled at me.
What a lovely smile he has.

He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“May I buy you a lemonade?” I said. He just shook his head no.

I am on a bus headed for Santa Cruz, California.
My roots. My home.

I bought The Llama some peanut butter crackers, and I bowed deeply before I turned and boarded my bus.

I’m going home.