San Franciscing, no time.
We spent the day at Hume Lake, an oasis in the middle of the forest - here is my scribble.
As I drink the air that surrounds me,
I consume my surroundings.
In peace, in nature, in quiet.
I ask myself why the rats of the cities do not migrate to this haven,
surrounded by resources
and sources of sources.
But what has been poisoned by the irrational touch of the driven mind,
the mind that aches for
improvement, efficiency, accessibility -
is now impure.
It belongs to the rats, those who cannot set their petty priorities aside
to take the leap of faith.
As I drink the air that surrounds me,I detest the noises I consume.
How can the poison reach as far as my wings can span?
It fills the air, my peripheries,
and only subsides at dusk.
From dusk until dawn the rats yawn,
I slither through the water -
cutting it in half -
as if to draw the line that divides them and I.
My eyes adjust, my senses too,
and all I take in becomes harmonic.
God's mighty melody.
I am the dancer of the night.
As the sun licks the corners of my peaks,
I am anxious.
One long ocean breath sweeps into my lungs and I am frozen.
The surroundings I create fuse with my frozen breath
and hold still.
Now the rays of the sun can no longer be tamed.
In an explosion of light,
of colors supreme,
my fellow belongers (or belongings)
come back to life.
"Sleep," I wish,
"sleep so I can retrieve my peace."