most southern men wouldnt consider the word graceful to describe themselves or any other man, but he was, he was good and honest and humble as well and he was loved by us all.  he took it all in stride in his good natured way,  we all heaped our hopes and dreams on his wide shoulders and he seemed to understand our need to live through him, all the things we could never be, he was, all that and more.
    telling this is as much for us as it is for him .
   it was late in the afternoon on a spring day just when the heat had died down and little old ladies would be putting on light sweaters and the smell of honeysuckle was just- right sweet andred and blue and yellow  wild flowers added a dash of color to the green countryside.
   i had just pulled into the 3corners store and was getting out of the car when an old song stopped me halfway out,  trying to decide if i wanted to set for a short while longer and finish that memory or shut the door and grab a beer that ive been thinking about on the drive home.  there was a couple old farmers,  legs proppped up on the  tail gate of a new muddy chevy truck  lookin over a blue tick hound whos tail was waggin like a dogs tail does when hes pleased his folks. then all hell broke loose in the form of a buck toothed low level dope dealer named travis sears.  he was pushing his old camaro for all it was worth down the dirt road and slinging dust and leonard skinner in his wake and i dont think he had it in park before he jumped out hollerin and cussing. 
   at first i thought i mis heard what he said, or thought he was stoned out of his mind, but my brain clicked all those little things that had been nagging me all day into place and there wasnt any sound at all.  dust from the road slowed down to a crawl though the air and particles of sunlight shimmerd down and my ears popped and you could have struck a match off of my dry lips and tongue and dread and fear knifed through my gut and a soft wail flew from my mouth at this truth so rudely dumped into my life.