Some time back, spouseinbox and I went to a relative’s funeral.  The pastor giving the sermon recalled events as the two of them met as kids and maintained a relationship through the years.  As the service continued, I looked at the casket and the thought “empty box” came to mind.  Spouseinbox and I discussed it during a later trip and I came up with the following lyrics.  There is no music yet.  That will come.

The attic room was hot and dusty, single bulb shown dim

Trinket I had sought was hard to find.

Over in a corner was a big old cardboard box

It was long and thin about waist high, tied with twine.

I looked the cardboard over, then observed a faded picture

of the bike received for Christmas many years ago.

I sat right there and thought of all the times that I had ridden,

morning, noon, and evening, over miles and miles of road.

There was the time we went fishing, caught in blackberry bush

got all scratched, tried not to tell my mom.

Then there was that nasty hill, loose gravel did its deed.

I had some stitches and a memory

We rode one thousand miles of blacktop in a single summer,

enjoying wind and sunshine through the trees.

Trips down hills in middle Fall, colored leaves would fill the air.

Ride until roads hazardous with winter’s chilly breeze

A few times I walked home the bike, to change the inner-tubes.

Sometimes fixed with kit of rubber and the sticky glue

Oiling chain, adjusting tension, yes, it popped off more than once,

Sending both feet flying off the pedals.

Then there were two drivers who ignored my right of way

I almost crashed against their right front fenders.

Now I sit here with the box, full of memories.

One time it held my precious bike, almost called a friend.

Now it’s empty leaving hint of cargo it once held.

And I’m so glad I had the chance to make those memories.

I am so glad I had the chance to make those memories.

Memories, memories, those precious thoughts of past

Reminding of experience before.

It may be just a box that one time held my precious bike

but memories render something more

In memory of Andy.