With me, every step, every day, every night – wayne michael dehart
You did not dedicate this book to the likes of me. Nevertheless, it guided my path, made me strong, brought me home. I read it on the plane ride over, and again on the plane ride back. The former with apprehension, the latter with gratitude. Sometimes in our journey, we bless the unintended. As you did for me. I do believe your sis would have smiled at that, all these years later. The law of unintended consequences is a coin toss. I called “heads”, and you flipped the quarter. Neither of us saw how it landed, nor did we want to.
On page 148, in a two-sentence chapter entitled, “Fourteen Old Bums”: you wrote “In the balcony of Madison Square Garden in New York City fourteen old bums filled up a row at the circus. In the middle of the Hungarian balancing act someone treated them all to ice creams.”
On page 191, the closing page, you offered, “Only you and I can help the sun rise each coming morning. If we don’t, it may drench itself out in sorrow … It’s up to you.”
Ice cream and sunrise. Daybreak and heartache. Faith and fear. 365 days.
A tip of that weathered hat and profound thanks to you, Ms. Baez – then, now and ’til the sunset of my days.
7 thoughts on ““And Here’s to the Dawn of their Days” … Sweet Sir Galahad, joan baez, 1969”
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This would be her honor to know she gave a soldier something to hang on to in those lonely, unnatural days of war.
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