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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required It was late August the "summer of ’69." Mike and I were "going on sixteen, " "daydream believers." chasing "Puff the Magic Dragon" and "ice cream castles in the air." We tied our transistor radios to our bicycle handlebars. The little speaker crackling between bursts of static, pulling melodies from unseen places. Mike rode beside me, his laughter keeping time with the clicking spokes; our pedals did "turn, turn, turn" through our idyllic hometown, our very own "land of Honah Lee." We were living on "cloud nine" that "summer of '69." At night, we kissed beneath "moons and Junes and Ferris wheels, feather canyons everywhere." October arrived, and "we frolicked in the autumn mist in the land we called Honah Lee." December came, "the leaves are brown and the sky is a hazy shade of winter." But in March, "here comes the sun;" "April, come she will" with her "new moon bright above and cherry pink and apple blossoms white. " It's the "time of the season when love run high." May afternoons stretched forever; with our transistor radios, we pedaled beneath elm trees, certain every road curved toward something wonderful. The radio knew every shortcut through the kingdom of sixteen and the "land of Honah Lee." "Monday, Monday" drifted from the speaker, followed by "Do You Believe in Magic," and then "Daydream Believer," as if the air itself had memorized the charts. At sixteen, we never questioned the future. Why would we? "All you need is love" seemed reasonable enough. With very passing hour we wore our "Groovy Kind of Love" like a lucky charm. We rode past porches, baseball diamonds, and fresh-cut lawns, while somewhere beyond the water tower there were always "Good Vibrations," The radio traveled everywhere with us~ through long twilights, through summer thunderstorms, through first kisses and our almost goodbyes. Songs spilled from that little box like bright confetti: "Bus Stop," "Mrs. Robinson," "Build Me Up Buttercup," while "The Sound of Silence" arrived as the evening sky turned lavender above the rooftops. We didn't know enough to recognize nostalgia while we lived inside it. We only knew the thrill of hearing a favorite song float from that little box, as dependable as summer.
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