At least once a week, usually very early in the morning when I’m by myself and all is peaceful, I start this song and close my eyes. The song is one of a few that can take me back to a crackling am radio station coming through an old dusty speaker atop the dash of my dad’s old 63 GMC step side pickup.

It’s evening time and we’re headed down the highway, on our way to spend an evening sitting on a pond dam catfishing at the Smith’s farm pond out in the country, south of town. Dad is right there in the driver seat to my left, one hand resting atop the oversized steering wheel with a ball handle and the other arm resting on the windowsill. He’s wearing an old blue t-shirt with a half empty pack of Viceroy cigarettes in the front left breast pocket. As the song plays, I stick my hand out the window and into the airstream just beyond wing window, fingers together and pointed forward as my hand raises and lowers, riding imaginary waves from the force of the wind stream. Even though I’m small I can still see the reflection of my hand going up and down from the force of the wind in the big, oversized towing mirror. In the background of my hand there is the fence line that follows the side of the road as we move along, and I try and hold my hand as straight as possible to ride the top wire of the fence line. On the power wires above the fence line a few Mourning Doves have gathered, usually in couples that sit together on the wires, so I take my index finger as if it were a pistol and I shoot the doves off the wire one by one. As we passed by a large milo field with milo heads of crimson, I can see more doves circling and landing at the edge of the field just beyond the fence, some on the ground strutting and pecking at the grain that has fallen from the ripe milo heads. We turn off the highway and the right front tire goes from a low hum to the sound of gravel crunching under the tires and the banging of the gravel on the undercarriage beneath my feet. The song plays on as we turn off the gravel road pull up to an old gate made of corrugated metal and I watch my dad get out and pull the pin, unlatching and opening the gate so we can drive through. After we pass through my dad asks if I can jump out and close the gate behind us. I do, and as I climb back in the song plays on. We drive across the field following two narrow strips of dirt surrounded by weeds and briars, and as we stop at the dam, I see a small herd of cattle in the distance start moving our way. We sit quietly for a second as the song ends and my dad tells me to grab the lantern behind the seat. He turns the key and the motor stops just as Roberta Flack giggles and the music fades into the night.

Enjoy them while they’re here because until we meet again, this is as good as it gets.