(I dream my paintings, and then I paint my dreams.)
Vincent Van Gogh
I look down at my old hiking boots and see
the Hogencamp Mountain trail that I hiked with my friend, Jack.
He loved to sing as we climbed to the pinnacle of this mountain.
He sang to the open valley bellow, belting out,
“Ol ’Man River,” in a deep bass voice
in memory of our fallen comrade, Al Schwartz.
It never failed to bring tears to our eyes.
We roasted Shish-kebob in a red wine marinade,
skewered with onions, peppers and cherry tomatoes.
The spicy aroma is locked into my senses,
as does the chocolate-covered halvah
for dessert—always de-rigueur with a jigger of schnapps.