Spirit Finder

I rode my bike in dusty circles,
sliding on loose gravel,
watching the pebbles fly and skip,
imagining them to be butterflies....
plunking,
hopping,
little winged frogs...... waiting to be free....
And
I listened to you ramble on.....and on...

"Do you want to go Blues Night?,
to a steakhouse?,
on a supply run?,
to the Beach?,
do you want to go anywhere anyone has ever named?"
And
I don't.....

I slammed on the brakes
and twisted just far enough to the left
to show off....
and slide...
and slip off...
and almost crash
until I laughed....

And started to ride again...
into the wind...
and around the corner,
and almost to the river
and back again....

And I grabbed my little pink fishing pole,
and a beer and some velveeta cheese
and
plopped down at the River....
to hook a lilly pad,
a pile of drunken peace signs and waves from a passing pontoon,
and a nod from the captain of a cigarette boat on idle....

Because this is why I came here...

For peace....

and my spirit....

And I've found it...

Spooky little Blues Cruise

We drifted....teetering a little to the left, a little upstream, or maybe down, and thicker into the Swamp.  Eyeballs everywhere.  Giant beak nosed vultures, 1000 years old I'm sure, sat perched at Sentinel Guard, staring down at us....Waiting.  Their beady little eyes darting.  Giving us the once over, in case we suddenly became just stiff enough to gobble up. 

The banks of this river breathe....and in the quiet...an impromptu drum circle begins....twigs snapping in rhythm, the footsteps of faieries or Big Foot, I'm not sure,  dancing....in the forest...the laughter of strangers deep in the woods, the low and thunderous groan of the Gator King....his rheumy eyes cast low, and his crooked smile....slurping up the tepid still waters...waiting...

We turn up the radio, just a little bit, Luther Vandross for the soul....

And still, we can hear the banjo's....