The Storm Is Coming, Fish
It is quiet before the storm. The lily pad is still. On it sits a yellow
flower. A man fishes, but the fish are hiding -- the little ones in the big ones' mouths. It's a storm agreement they have, although I'd be lying if I said the big ones didn't occasionally snack, perhaps convinced it would be their last meal, perhaps just ignorant of their contractual obligations, perhaps just hungry. How else do you think they got big? Not by merit.
The wind cools. The storm points its purple finger across the sky, the point of which will soon be here on this rock where I sit. Will it annihilate me? Do I want that? Likely not.
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The wind cools. The storm points its purple finger across the sky, the point of which will soon be here on this rock where I sit. Will it annihilate me? Do I want that? Likely not.
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Labels: Quetico
posted by JMH | 10:07 PM
6 Comments:
Perhaps a friendly cave to hide in? But then, caves also are entitled to a light snack. Bring a sack of sand.
Yes, I often eat a sack of sand as a light snack. But I sprinkle it over olive oil and basil and tomato and mozzarella on flatbread, just for extra crunch...and to toughen myself for that day when I will have to eat dirt.
Ah, but the cave eats sand and might prefer it to eating you. It's a peace offering. Basalt & pepper.
I sure hope you weren't annihilated!
You never know when you might have to eat dirt.
sybil - I sure hope I wasn't too.
jorg - Dirt - the most ubiquitous food.
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