borrowing

This feels like the best I can do here in the Blog this Tuesday morning:

“I’ve dreamed – often – of finding the lightest rowboat and giving myself over to the endless currents. All the tree-lined bends and turns, the high golden grass of summer, at one, with the dizzy pastel leaves of late September. Dropped down on the water like me. Just like me.”

“My Startled Heart”, W.B. Cushman. “ode to a neighborhood creek”