Good morning!
I have a recurring vision of Brownsville, Texas, my home town.
I don't know when I saw it. Possibly I saw it many times. It's a simple picture, in the poorer part of town. A simple lot in the town, with a humble unpainted residence on it. Lots of greenery, trees, bushes, grasses. Yellow sunshine, lots of yellow morning sunshine, and overhead a huge sky of perfect cerulean blue with white cumulus clouds. But the focus is on that spot on the ground, that little house, those plants, that greenery, that yellow sunshine.
The sunshine was truly yellow in those days, there in Brownsville, Texas, in the morning. The first thing that struck me upon waking up in Berkeley, California, was that the colors of California were very different. There is a lot of orange, and the shadows are blue and purple. The shadows of Texas--well I don't know what color they were then. The color of welcome shade. True yellow would have true violet as its shade but it seemed to me to tend to brown.
I don't know how or where that vision was fixed upon my brain, that particular moment in time and space lodged in my consciousness. But it's just there, ready to pop up out of its own volition once in a while, when I think of "home." How pretty and how nice.
There are other visions, like down around the area back of the Missouri Pacific station near the river and back of the El Jardin Hotel at night. It's dark (there were not as many electric lights in those days) and it is a little misty, and there is a mystery there that I have envisioned a thousand times as it came to me. That's beautiful too, if a little scary. I probably saw that sight out of the window of a car as I was riding around after sunset, propelled by my unthinking parents into a vision I'd not forget. I wonder why I kept these things, or why I was given them in the first place. Haunting scenes that are just there within me, that come back to visit me now and then. Does everybody have them? I think they must. YAZZYBEL
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