Catalina's Milky Way Dreams(c) Re- Written 2024 - By The Depressed Poet, Doc Dalton
Shooting Stars and fast moving CarsRumble through the roads of my mindTick-e-ty Tock, the old sounds of the clockSay's it's almost a quarter past nine
The moons surely rising, the stars are a glidingAnd Mr. Sandman is ready to roamHurry off to bed and put your pillow under your headHe might just be visiting you tonight at homeDrifting off to sleep is such a wonderful featAdventures you'll enjoy on your ownMaking new friends on a journey to no endA secrete life that is yours all aloneDon't be afraid of those gobble lee goo'sOr those pirates drifting to sea on their boatsThere's no need to worry there just in your dreamsLike rainbow clouds and cotton candy floatsOh that sky's full of colors of make believe wondersExciting every step of the wayCan't you let me stay for just a little bit longerPlease, don't take my Dreams a wayTo see this through a child's eyesOn the path to where stars brightly beamThrough a different world of twist and twirlsWon't you come to my Milky Way DreamsWe could have so much funUnder an ice cream sun and laugh our time awaySing some M & M songs the whole day longUntil we awake to brand new day
Pluto say's hey kiddo don't get out of bedAs Snakel Puss laughs and says, ah it's OKKKKKKKKPopeye yell's, were gone in a minute after I eat me spinachPoo say's all aboard my Banana Split SleighOh that Sky's full of colors of make believe wondersExciting every step of the wayCan't you let me stay for just a little bit longerWorry not Catalina, we won't take your Dreams a way
To see this through a child's eyesOn the path to where stars brightly beamThrough a different world of twist and twirlsWon't you come to my Milky Way Dreams
Catalina say's, please come join me, on my Milky Way Dreams
Nobody really knew who put the old cross there. Some folks said it had been standing long before they were born. Others claimed an old farmer named Jacob Miller built it after his wife passed away, carrying the heavy timbers up the hill by himself because he wanted the first thing people saw each morning to be a reminder that hope still lived.
Truth is... Nobody really knew. But everyone knew where it was. "The old cross on Miller's Hill." If you were giving directions, that cross always became part of the conversation. "Turn left at the old cross." "Meet me by the old cross." "I'll see you just past Miller's Hill." It had become more than a landmark. It had become part of people's lives. When I was a little boy, my father would sometimes drive us up there on Sunday evenings. We didn't say much. We would sit on the tailgate of his old pickup truck and watch the sun disappear behind the hills. He never preached. He never quoted long passages from the Bible. He simply looked at that old wooden cross and quietly said, "Son... no matter how hard life gets... don't forget what happened because of that Cross."
At the time, I don't think I understood. Kids rarely do. Years passed. Life happened. There were good days filled with laughter. There were days that broke my heart. I buried people I loved. I made mistakes I wish I could erase. My body grew tired. My spirit grew weary. There were moments when I wondered if I had enough strength left to keep going. Funny thing about life... When your heart becomes heavy... It somehow remembers where peace lives.
One autumn afternoon, after feeling like the weight of the world had settled on my shoulders, I found myself driving toward Miller's Hill.
I hadn't planned it. My truck just seemed to know the way. The old cross was still there. Older. Weathered. Its wood had cracked from decades of rain, snow, blazing summers, and bitter winters. It wasn't perfect. Neither was I. I walked closer. The wind whispered through the tall grass. The leaves danced across the ground. For a long time... I just stood there. No grand prayer. No perfect words. Just silence. And somehow... The silence became the prayer. I realized something standing there that afternoon.
The Cross wasn't beautiful because the wood was perfect. It was beautiful because of what it represented. Grace. Mercy. Forgiveness. A love so great that Heaven reached down to rescue ordinary people like me. That old cross had watched generations come and go. Children had become grandparents. Soldiers had gone to war and returned home. Some never returned at all. Young couples had stopped there to pray before getting married. Families had visited after burying loved ones.Travelers had paused for just a moment before continuing down life's road. Through it all... The Cross never moved. It simply stood. Faithful. Waiting. Just as Christ has always done. As the sun dipped below the hills, I smiled. Not because every problem had disappeared. Not because all the questions had been answered. I smiled because I remembered something my father had told me all those years ago. "When life gets hard... look toward the Cross."
Now I finally understood what he meant. The old cross on Miller's Hill wasn't there to remind us how heavy life can become. It was there to remind us that Someone already carried the greatest burden of all. As I climbed back into my truck, I looked one last time toward the hill. The old cross stood quietly against the evening sky. Still welcoming. Still waiting. Still pointing every weary soul toward hope. And I have a feeling... It always will.
Truth is... Nobody really knew. But everyone knew where it was. "The old cross on Miller's Hill." If you were giving directions, that cross always became part of the conversation. "Turn left at the old cross." "Meet me by the old cross." "I'll see you just past Miller's Hill." It had become more than a landmark. It had become part of people's lives. When I was a little boy, my father would sometimes drive us up there on Sunday evenings. We didn't say much. We would sit on the tailgate of his old pickup truck and watch the sun disappear behind the hills. He never preached. He never quoted long passages from the Bible. He simply looked at that old wooden cross and quietly said, "Son... no matter how hard life gets... don't forget what happened because of that Cross."
At the time, I don't think I understood. Kids rarely do. Years passed. Life happened. There were good days filled with laughter. There were days that broke my heart. I buried people I loved. I made mistakes I wish I could erase. My body grew tired. My spirit grew weary. There were moments when I wondered if I had enough strength left to keep going. Funny thing about life... When your heart becomes heavy... It somehow remembers where peace lives.
One autumn afternoon, after feeling like the weight of the world had settled on my shoulders, I found myself driving toward Miller's Hill.
I hadn't planned it. My truck just seemed to know the way. The old cross was still there. Older. Weathered. Its wood had cracked from decades of rain, snow, blazing summers, and bitter winters. It wasn't perfect. Neither was I. I walked closer. The wind whispered through the tall grass. The leaves danced across the ground. For a long time... I just stood there. No grand prayer. No perfect words. Just silence. And somehow... The silence became the prayer. I realized something standing there that afternoon.
The Cross wasn't beautiful because the wood was perfect. It was beautiful because of what it represented. Grace. Mercy. Forgiveness. A love so great that Heaven reached down to rescue ordinary people like me. That old cross had watched generations come and go. Children had become grandparents. Soldiers had gone to war and returned home. Some never returned at all. Young couples had stopped there to pray before getting married. Families had visited after burying loved ones.Travelers had paused for just a moment before continuing down life's road. Through it all... The Cross never moved. It simply stood. Faithful. Waiting. Just as Christ has always done. As the sun dipped below the hills, I smiled. Not because every problem had disappeared. Not because all the questions had been answered. I smiled because I remembered something my father had told me all those years ago. "When life gets hard... look toward the Cross."
Now I finally understood what he meant. The old cross on Miller's Hill wasn't there to remind us how heavy life can become. It was there to remind us that Someone already carried the greatest burden of all. As I climbed back into my truck, I looked one last time toward the hill. The old cross stood quietly against the evening sky. Still welcoming. Still waiting. Still pointing every weary soul toward hope. And I have a feeling... It always will.
