creek bound

by underswansea

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It’s all tough when you think about it. But so what. Think about the bounty, the reward. The moon rising regardless. The birds flying either way, up and down and sideways. Coming to the realization they are smarter than you. Damned if it doesn’t make you shake your head.

The rocks need pitching. The river needs swimming and if I had a resolution I’d promise to build a giant fire out of spruce and fir gathered on the banks of Cedar and swim among the ancient stones and driftwood, dry and skinned white from the river ride. I’m still working on humble. It’s tough when it’s being taken away.

Plenty of sky undisturbed and riverbanks too. I could pound me fist and say it doesn’t exist anymore. They’ve turned it all into real estate. But what good would it do. The birds would take flight. And the dogs would say fuck, if they only could.

The mountains put up with clear-cuts up and down their sides. The rivers get damned and shit in. The lake is a draw for tourists, overcrowded in summer and winter. The politicians and business folk claim it in our name. Figuring new ways to charge.

If the water and land can take it, who am I to complain?

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