As strong wind pushes leaves into song- pebbles pop and grind.
In the middle of summer the foliage is think and the sun finds difficulty making it to the ground. You drive through streaking moments of blinding light and back into the shadows- repeatedly, like a drumbeat.
It’s easy to be lulled into salvation if the road it long enough and the mountain deep enough- each bend brings another world, each world a new beginning.
-at least a new thought, if a new world isn’t easily accepted. But then again, that’s an individual mindset- one meant for unending growth, another for a self-inflicted stockade.
It worked. He reached in back of his kayak, felt the cool neck of a beer, pulled it from its cardboard six-pack holder and placed it in his lap. He liked the way the droplets slowly slid down the glass bottle. He opened the beer and swallowed. The current of the Connecticut River was guiding him directly to the island beach where he would sit in the warm sand and read his book. The mountain was barely in view, he could just make out the cliffs. The summer greenery on each side of the river banks was full and beautiful. He was the only one on the rive