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That traffic is an illusion
produced by human ingenuity
brilliant ignorance of true progress
a mesmerizing whoosh
hidden by trees.
Here
on this creek
where water moves lazy-like
cicada songs are real
a snorting deer
tweeter tweeters
fading light flecks
over moss-covered rocks
brown earth banks
downed branches
a pale sky.
Life happens here
recycled and upcycled
older than time
younger than tomorrow
unending, unending, unending
let me be here
at the edge of nowhere
the heart of everywhere
this—
this is real.
Yes! Reality lives eternally there!
Sent from my iPhone
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I know you have walked the banks of such creeks many times and understand my sentiments so well. 🙂
lovely
Thank you so much!