Water...

Listen to the voices: cacophony, perhaps, but only at first.      Animal voices, tree voices, fish voices: Trout shouts with a slap of his tail upon glassy lake Orca sings a harmony far, far off. Ash and oak whisper to each other, l eaves rustling in gentle breeze. Lion roars as Sun guilds the savanna sky with radiance: A voice of a mammal and a voice of warm photons. Listen closely: individual voices emerge amongst the hum of rising sea temperatures. Coffee-shop chatter: human voices, willfully ignorant. Insurrectionists screaming their credos, claps of thunderous violence. Two lovers entwined whisper in ecstasy: the voice of joyous sex. Populists, echo-chambers of the powerful reverberate with senseless platitudes— incoherent self-congratulatory-grunting-gravely, grating, death-rattles… Choking screams of something precious: the perishing voices of suffering, democratic-thirsty, freedom loving human individuals. Will our children have to purchase

I started this page thinking about so many details from this day.  It's okay not to write anything down at all. Electric is off, due to area specific thunderstorms, so working off my cell phone signal and this laptop.  I would like to write out longhand but probably won't.  Guess my son is in the writing mood tonight as well. I do not always find peace in solitude.  I often feel anxious when I go into solitude.  Sometimes I long to turn down the noise...the fan, the TV, the daily living noise. Do I want to really think about shit?  Do I want to think about how bothered I actually am by trivial stuff---that probably does not matter all that much in even 30 minutes and definitely not in 30 weeks. I am here now.  The rain is falling, the pebbles of rain fall across the landscape.  The order of things is unchanged.  Mary Oliver's eyes see what my eyes see.  I don't know my place in the order of things.  I do and I don't.  There is something that haunts me.  The Hunted S