Old River
Old River There is a place, a glorious place, brilliantly blooming with life in my mind. A place that came to be over many years of viewing all its amazements in thousands of steps among all its essence, within hundreds of elements gleaming around me in the millions of miracles my eyes have seen. A place not far from here, a place well kept from others, impossible to find with the naked eye. For it is unlike any other place, always creating itself as I need it to be for my imagination to thrive and live free in the ever waking light that rises like a new morning sun. There in this place, there is a shallow river that winds through many woodlands opening into fields where the many strands of long grasses tickle my hands as I walk through them in meadows of budded wildflowers on long stretched stems among carpets of clovers, throw rugs of daisies mingled with dandelions among small spreads of chickweed. The river itself always babbling its presence over large round smooth sto...