Thread of thoughts

Looked up a bit about the The Thin Blue Line, which I watched in  8th grade, then another by the same filmmaker about a pet cemetery, which I hadn't seen before, and tried to crochet a project. Where my mind went was to fun on a lake with friends of my grandparents. Perhaps I was about eight. Such joyful people. They had a boat and they liked kids. But also, they'd had a son who had passed away tragically. He had drowned. He may have had mental difficulties, too. Why does it seem like I asked them about it, and then maybe the man told me it was difficult, sadly, but didn't cry, and why does it seem like maybe my grandparents apologized, but didn't quite get mad at me and why did that whole thing happen, as if there was permission granted...I unraveled the project, which had a big hole in it. Then I remembered being in the back of my mother's car, age 14, and my first boyfriend was also there, being driven home by her. We all lived on the same island for that brief period of time. In the car, we listened to a tape of choral singing. Actually, I had sung in the choir. We could look up at the sky from the windows. He said he liked a song that was playing. It was based on an Algonquin poem. I found...

We are the stars that sing, we sing with our light. We are the birds of fire, we fly over the sky. Our light is our voice. Our light is a voice. We make a road for the spirit to pass over. We make a road for the spirit to pass over.

http://www.mehstories.com/songs.html