












The clouds blurred white on the blue blur of morning sky and all around the wind stood still and trees stirred. Sun sank down the well of day and struck light sang birds. Woods backed away from the passive power lines, as in this day and age wires still carried word. And the word was getting good.
All glory to the gods, goddesses, godheadedness that could heap such riches on us bitches. All around we are found. All along hear the song. Hallelujah, despite the news.
Should I falter, yank my halter, I’ll draw farther from the trough and closer to the altar. I am yours to do with what I please.
Such were my morning prayers.
Trees defy the breeze blowing in the opposite direction. Clouds move up and down instead of north, south, east or west. Every item on the agenda moves as it sees fit and in the end sees fit to fit. The trees and clouds have resumed normal operations.
The River Obscure
The gorge of the River Obscure is formed by a gap between bending trees, rays of sun slanting from the far side, and a pile of rock perhaps seventy feet high suggesting a bluff hidden in the treetops. Tourists would never come to see this place, because once more than three people got here, something bigger would be needed to impress the group. They’d be looking at each other, and in vain for something more. One person, however, stepping out onto a sandbar for the first time, on a late afternoon in summer, can feel it. The true magnitude of what we encounter can sometimes only be measured by the silence it inspires.