Saint Gregory The Great -And so lately I've been hearing a story about a boy, laying between two window panes, in some irrelevant hotel room, south of Charleston. And his view outside is better than the one in, so you can spare the debate. all the while he's unjustly blaming the decay of the Spanish moss solely upon the weather. And with an unfamiliar pillow pressed hard into his lap, he stares intrigued into the mirror that's presented in front of him, and the white walls surrounding him resemble Heaven, Denali, or was it Vilnius? And so those walls waned, and faded a darker hue. All the while, the red, plastic flowers on the dresser top, melt sugar in the warmth of yet another sweet southern summer. And to the right of his much traveled bed, the window sings, and outside the fountain whispers "I'm just another pawn, another victim, another whore of this vile world." And its' water breaks for the shores like those green toy soldiers, for yet do they continue to fall short? And so he scribbles "How does this reflect upon my life on a daily basis, when the world will just keep spinning, and my eyes will keep cowering?" And oh, how he longs to take the road home, back north. back to the New England summers, the shores at Bethany, and the chill of another weekend in the Green Mountains. And he just wants to feel affection from one other, yet don't we all? And the times like those will be certain to remind him of those in her lavender lush painted room, an era when he was in her locket, the one proudly displayed and hung around her neck, not the one buried in some chest, only to be lost to the decades' literature. And together they sung "linolium floors, linolium floors, oh how we love these linolium floors..."