The water is choice. You can tell imme-
diately and the environment itself mak-
es this clear. The sky. Looking into t-
he sky I see over excited nerves creat-
ing iridescent tingles everywhere. Cri-
sp wind.
Large rocks form a wall extending into
the horizon. Covered in moss. Birds fl-
oat around and land in large trees. Sq-
uirrels perform miracles passing throu-
gh brush and fallen branches at lights-
peed. One gives me a sideways paranoid
glance as it rests on the wall with an
acorn and tells me to go fuck myself.
I keep walking along the stream. Crack-
ling leaves beneath me. A few feet ahe-
ad the tall grass is covered in a blan-
ket of spider web. I raise my eyes. It
is massive. At least an acre. Jolt of
concern. I look down. Spiders are craw-
ling up my legs. I look around. I’m in
the middle of the damned thing.
For a moment I’m too concerned to reac-
t. A lightning bolt goes down my spine
and I’m off. I’m in the stream now. Ro-
lling around. It is too shallow to sub-
merge my body. Pretty soon I’m a slimy
dam and I claw my way over to the bank.
I rest a moment. Eyes closed.
I hear a sound. I look over. It’s a tu-
rtle. It is a magnificent dark green a-
nd dayglo orange. I think it’s yawning
when we make eye contact. It shakes its
head and hobbles off. I think I hear it
mumble jerk, but it’s hard to tell.
I can’t for the life of me remember why
I’m here. Maybe I’m dreaming.
