Hello you. I’m about to wind down for the night and as a cool-down lap I decided to let myself do a stream of consciousness session for about two minutes. Enjoy!
River Valley River
Low sod mosses tomb stones; bay bridges hedged with communion hay. Hey! Don’t step on the yellow petaled flowers that grow along the river. Do not throw the works of skill into this vein. Watch it meander and purr along the wide winding foothills of the lofty peaks. Blue and white-striped-life dashes along its surface; bearing new forms in every instant and losing them in the next; forever lashing and throbbing and casting. The river flows through me. It’s elder pines my infectious habits; forever ago sown and forever again reaped. If not I cut—her—down. Fall the pine rise the passionate berry-bush.
There swell the river stone. There dance the fragrant pig grass. There, clicks and hums of mechanical Molokai maneuvering mid motion. Don’t move! Don’t dare breathe! Not until it passes and with it the thing that wakes me in cold sweat—
River valley river! I set my home on your ghost; a bucolic oxbow lake long left behind. And even as you did not, I remain to guard my work and home. I will care for your offspring and tend her as well as I tend you in Autumn in the chill of change and chance. I accept your fish and your drink today and everyday; we are intimate soulfellows, yet I have never touched your shoulder twice. I am inspired by you—reminded of what being a young man alone in a deaf world can mean. You! Oh sweet mist-awe that wakes me, each morning, with a cheer! Wake man and make good a million promises!