Glade

Hudson River glittering, late afternoon sunlight like unending summer vacations of youth, I do not tire. What was it like a hundred years ago? Three hundred a thousand? Much the same you reckon. There’s a zen bubbling in your blood stream that isn’t easily riled, there’s a peace you’ve been searching all spring to find, here it lay waiting, you could not have guessed. Jack’s words sift through your silence, he speaks of mountains to climb and you think change is good, I woke this morning to birdsong and slept last night under the stars, I was not made to be stagnant, how did I forget? A train barrels down along the river, you return soon to your own madness but you are different now.

You are gathering your strength. Soon your storm will arrive.