I’m not looking for that pot of gold or the Land of Oz or even that promise of home and the fulfillment of whatever dreams are still floating inside my head and heart, wistfully evoked by Judy Garland and so many other singers over the years in song, no, not looking anymore. Or at least that’s what I thought not so long ago. But the sight of one in the sky on a morning after a long rain, well it does do something to everyone, causing smiles, sighs, that glaze over the eyes when one is transported somewhere other than where one is. And I spent a minute or two staring pensively out the window at that sky, that rainbow stretching across it in a corner of my universe, and I couldn’t help but think I’m not through journeying just yet. The years have crept up on me and slowed my ability to leave the comfort of the bed in the morning but not the aching in my heart that longs for rainbows, a few true companions, and possibly a flask or two of lubrication to help propel me down that road, whether made of yellow bricks, asphalt, clay, trodden grass, or dirt, to look for something not found where I am. Something that never seems to be found wherever it is I am. Rainbows, roads, journeys. And a voice whispering in my ear saying not done yet, old timer. Not now or ever, or at least not till you finally get to the end of some rainbow in the sky and can lay your head, close your eyes, and rest on whatever waits for you there.