1-6-93

Haze day.  The medicine was there.  First jam, pretty nice. Last Song out and about, made it all worthwhile.  Not much to report, most missions accomplished.  Tomorrow I must do something.

             The music plays against his ears,
             Proximities are rare guesses,
             The crashes and silence that he hears,
             Tug at his conscious heart, and he confesses:
             "Please stop, yes stop, I will say what is asked,
             All you wish to hear placed into your grasp.
             I just crave a moment's respite,
             From those kind melodies of my youth.
             They unbound my flooded eyes, while I sit,
             Destroying myself, in your court, with your precious
                                                                                   truth."

A crowd of brown ducks suddenly exploded off of the face of the pond at the same moment I sat down.  I had attempted to do so soundlessly, and had imagined my success.  But the reaction of the fowl told me otherwise.  They slowly rose into the warm air about them and slowly spread themselves into the distance, further down the eastern shore, towards the hillsides.

I then began to undo my bootstraps.  They were course and almost brittle from the abuse of the forenight's rain.  First the right, then the left, and my feet feel the outside air, breathe deep its pleasant touch.  My toes are again allowed movement without confinement.

Heartened by such response, I quickly doff my shirt and trousers, and return to my feet.  I leave all of my worldly possessions behind (those able to be left, of course) and scurry awkwardly to the water.  And, lo, my fowl, once startled, now return, secure.