Were the endless reigns Of chainsaws lumbering,
While bobbing along
Crystal clear waters In the Trinity River,
Away from home.
I was warned of The pending rains
And endless clouds,
But could only smell Essence of conifers
In the healing waters.
The tastes of freedom Dwarfed my senses
Need for pleasure,
Where beauty determined What I thought essential
Would just float on by…
Kirk Gothier
This article appears in ‘A Single Purpose’.