Everything glitters here. The sun glimmers through the leaves. The mica in the sand glitters when my feet disturb it, swirling star dust in the river. I’m sure, to the outside observer, that I must glimmer as the sun rays caught in the water bounce up and dapple my face. On the road ways on windy days, tires spin up mica dust, diamonds upon the wind. The light that plays upon the trees is dear to me, as are the water strides about my feet, skating upon pools of dusky brilliance. We are skating upon the surface of life as they skate upon the river. I want to know what lies underneath.
Sycamores are my favorite. The alabaster of their limbs dances among blue and green. I love watching the movements of leaves, listen to their rustle, the medium through which the wind sings.
Perhaps this is all I need. No friends, no love, simply the movement of the river. Around my kind, it is confusing, shameful, disturbing. Here it is pure and numinous. With them, I am a scared child. Out here, alone, I am a young god. The rumble of traffic is far off. The calm music of the river is near. I would look beautiful to anyone watching, however no one is.
I could go eat dinner, or I could sit here while longer. I am content to chose the latter, and postpone my return to chaos.
My heart swells with the breeze and my thoughts fly.
Nature requires nothing of me, and for that, I would give it anything.
There is something to be said for the beauty of dying leaves; however I am not the one to say it.
I suppose I should be sad that my heart is at its zenith here and not in the arms of another.
Still about an hour before the sun sets. I shouldn’t be so stagnant. I’ll walk on.
I watched a wedding across the river, hidden in the trees. I watched life move and sing wile I remained still and silent, and for a moment, I did not exist, but in a good way, not like dying, just not fully being, and that was fine.