Today I wake late. My body and mind need more bedding down. The sky is thick and white, gathering to gray over the rounded tired spine of the mountains. I hear a lone goose calling from the swamp due east, all the birds seem chittering and confused. I download an app, a compass, for the sake of nostalgia. I realize at any time my true North may be compromised with it. I have little faith in the workings and intent of man. I'd make a real one had I silk and a needle.
My skin wants to walk the forest, hopeful the rain will come soon. The lake writes to me on the wind, like a distant lover in a modern war of civility. I cannot meet today. I promise; maybe tomorrow. It laps on a cooling ground in wait.
I must trudge to work, the light of the sky begs me not to go to the light of man. Coin creates unnatural slaves. My essence sits with the water, in tomorrow.
