As iced-rain pelted against darkened glassed pane,

scarcely preparing minds-eye for morning’s sight,

as creaks, snaps, cracklings rent the consciousness

to envision the fractured members of stately timbers;

the morning’s find only half predicted.

Our being —

A rented space

To house our given souls.

A framework

Of unique construction

That is built but once,

To maintain,

Improve,

Appreciate,

Enjoy.

How are you! Here we are, we are your native sons!” Just a version of Arlo Guthrie’s song, though of New Orleans, it can’t be wrong. Our next adventure is to the Northwest, and we will try our very best, to make this run and have some fun with many sights to see.

We sing the Blues as we leave the warmth, the sea and the tropical hues,

But we’ll be back in the Fall to enjoy our house that has few walls, and

we’ll see our friends we leave behind, start Happy Hours to relieve the grind of what to do, where to go, to dine in, or out or see a show.

Whatever we plan you can be sure that what we do will be pure

of joy and sun that will abound along with birds of which will sound

like music to my ears.