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 ‘Unapologetically’.