The Gone Is a Fantasma

The gone is a Dream I drove passed my Savannah this afternoon mist covered yet, the sun rays got through and bathed my dream in wondrous mystic. I haven`t been here since last summer my piece of Africa with tall grass and lion pride. Every summer for twenty years I rode my scooter here and knew ever blade of grass, olive trees and vines and I was never attacked by any animals, not even the crocodiles in the ditches bothered to make a splash. Only once when I had strayed too far where the mountain range appears the gypsies had a camp hidden behind cypresses, their dogs gave chase, and I had to drive for my life. Perhaps, it was not quite like that but the Savannah was there a place to dream and be a boy again when summers lasted forever and trees where for climbing to the top and laugh at the funny looking adults.