If a choir of angels could leave footprints,
I’m guessing they’d look a lot like these:
Mammatus clouds in Lincoln, Nebraska
June 11, 2018
Photographs by Uncle Tree
“Fly high, dear nephew! And say Hi to your dad,
and my dad, and the rest of our heavenly family for me. Will ya?”
You see, Alex, 23, bought this motorcycle a couple of months ago.
He went on to meet his Maker just a ways beyond this cross.
I work for Kawasaki, and I stand for Uncle Tree.
No need to imagine how I felt.
The trail of tears ended here on Highway 210, near Richmond, Missouri.
Friends and family showed up by the numbers, which made me quite proud.
An angel in the midst is always a comforting sign.
Burning one for Alex made for a righteously appropriate goodbye.
Blowing trees is like smoking tires —
they both end up taking you to the place you’d rather be.
Alex’s Nismo 370z did likewise, but now it remains as part of his legacy,
as do his skateboards and tennis shoes, and the beautiful arrangements.
“Thank you, Lord, for blessing us with such a sweet boy.”
Richard Alexander Watson
Richard Lee Watson
11/23/65 — 9/17/12
Billy Lee Watson
8/24/31 — 6/25/16
Keith Alan Watson
It reached 99° here yesterday!
By one degree, we beat the record high set in 1912.
For comparison’s sake, last year the high was 76°.
On or off the water, everyone was hot to trot.
Seagulls seem to celebrate the heated debate.
Still, at the end of the day, there’s no better place to be.
Photographs by Uncle Tree
Branched Oak Lake
Rudy, Duke of Ginger, says, “Hello there, folks!”
Regal Rudy takes a royal bow best he can.
After all the fun, a royal nap seems purr…fectly in order.
“Let me know when they start serving ice cream. I love that part!“
Ready steady Rudy knows a silver spoon when he sees one.
Believe you me! — Sir Uncle Tree
The Heart Bush was once familiar, then all at once it was removed.
Probably not moved elsewhere, nay.
Most likely mowed down to the ground for pity’s sake!
Why in God’s name would they do such a thing, you ask?
Me, too. Good question!
We’ll have to ask the groundskeeper at
The Highlands Golf Course in Lincoln, Nebraska.
“I mean, really! How low can you go?”
She’d call me into the parlor
to come and sit by her side
I always knew what she wanted
the joy that came from her pride
Mother alone possessed the keys
caught off-guard by her fingers
Chopsticks, I’d play beside her knees
Still the memory lingers
We sang a song by The Beatles
those insects with many hands
She said The Band had just arrived
they’d come to invade our lands
Music would roll from whence we played
I feigned to sing harmony
We rocked the clock; in time we stayed
The Stones were too old for me!
“Happy Mother’s Day!”
♫ ♪ ♫