Another place. Piano keys jingle soft and peaceful in the creek water. Little water skeeters glide on the surface as thoughts with them carry upstream to meet us again. For now we lay in the sunglow. Long hairs of here’s and the grass is in my hands, poems drift with the wind filled clouds. It’s magical. The birds bring forth the songs of trees, their everlasting harmony blessing us this place. A littler green bug crawls onto my middle finger, it's warm, it rests, lays down its wings and it sleeps. Where one body begins and another soul of the same unites, we write our songs, our stories, we lay us down by the water, full with the yellow magic of sun.
Incandescent shimmers, portals as they are, glimmer on the surface of the water, the totality of sky reflected and brought within walking distance. The green bug is a compliment to the red ink of sovereign, of servitude for nature’s flow, for this reverential place we’ve begun to share. It’s another place. To Spirit be.