A Night Run
a stream of consciousness nature essay
There are no stars. In their place, numerous spiders’ eyes glitter among leaves on the ground.
Perhaps the world is upside down. And has it faded a little?
I mourn, thinking a little bit about personal sadness. I hide it with other names; claiming to lament
the failures of industrialism
the Lost Generation
the fall of Rome
the fate of the noble pagan.
When I reach the end of the trail, I make a few corrections to the constitution of my imaginary kingdom. Finding it sufficient, I stop under a pine tree to catch my breath.
A screech owl cries softly. My heart nearly cracks with love of it. I would rather feel a sound like that trill from my throat once than write volumes of poetry.
I think inexplicably about rivers.
In June I went kayaking and watched my boat skim over green ripples. I wanted to split and penetrate the water myself, feeling it slide cold and fierce across my skin. I wanted to be a bird and a fish and still triumphantly and wildly human.
In June I fell passionately in love with the river. The sound of water still comes into my dreams.