When the purple rain falls and forms a carpet on the streets and lanes
I think of you.
The sun’s arc tracks higher in the sky, and the air holds its warmth into the night.
I think of you.
You were always there, and this was our season.
40 spring times, birthdays, and anniversaries.
And then, finally, in that same season, the bell tolled and purple framed your cortege in regal, solemn tones.
And life goes on, and the jacaranda sets the revolutions of time to the tune of the greatest of memories and a life well lived.
Paul Russell: Musings 