Times Change, and then they never do. I remember when I was young I would walk the trails around Docspond hoping for some voluptuous woman to jump out of the woods and insist on making love on the spot we stood. I would imagine her beauty, the positions, the way that called for contraception, and the ways that did not. Sadly to say no one ever jumped out of the woods. The only person I engaged in any fantasies with I had to bring there on several occasion s upon a summer long forgotten by many. "Yo Baby, Yo Baby, Yo!" sent me rolling off this punk chick like a rabbit after sex. Right after plunging in I find myself rolling out onto my side busting a stitch. She had me in tears for fifteen minutes before I could plunge in once more and continue the cruise. Except those occasions I am sad to say that once the doctor left, so did the nudity.

So this New Years Eve, many years from then. I find myself out walking the trails after a twilight rain. Looking for elderly dog walkers. How far has my fantasies sunk. Fantasies tend to be in some degree of reason and probability, I find. So the reality of the question leaves me to ponder a possible conversation with a man with a poodle. Add to this impossibility, it is wet and dark in the wood in rural America. Long gone are the general store or the local pub. So I am left with these erosions of my reality wishing for a poodle in this bedroom community. Job, family, and the pursuit of sleep. I guess I have joined the ranks of Samuel Adams and Thomas Paine. Too bad I look ridiculous in my one man band outfit playing fife and drum waving a flag long ignored suffering from some head injury that the bandage attests to. For no one was in these trails of America when I was younger and even less now.