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My head knocks against the stars.
My feet are on the hilltops.
My finger-tips are in the valleys and shores of
universal life.
Down in the sounding foam of primal things I
reach my hands and play with pebbles of
destiny.
I have been to hell and back many times.
I know all about heaven, for I have talked with God.
I dabble in the blood and guts of the terrible.
I know the passionate seizure of beauty
And the marvelous rebellion of man at all signs
reading “Keep Off.”
My name is Truth and I am the most elusive captive
in the universe.
Gerard Van der Leun
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That came up in your suggested’s too? Freaking Oy tube.
Best memories are of canoe camping on the Delaware. You can see all the stars. Quiet as a church with the sound of the river in the background. Campfire throwing shadows and illuminating faces at peace. Good times
Was I the only one waiting for the “bang”?
Never mind. I’ll go back to my solitary cynicism.
In the 26 years I’ve owned my little trout camp up in the woods, not once have I had music playing, or any electronic noise, though many have asked for it. And why would I, as it would obliterate the sounds of silence. The harp piece, what we heard of it, was enjoyable.
I have been thoroughly startled by a deer, though, in the dark of night climbing the hill above my crick after a night of fishing. Broke an expensive flyrod, and destroyed the quiet of the night with curses.
John Venlet, thank you sir, for calling a crick a crick. Only parvenues around here say, “creeeek.”
Um, parvenus, unless they are girls and, thus, parvenues. Eighth grade French is a bitch after a vodka martini.
It’s hard to tell who was more starteled.
That was cute.
I guess it’s hard to maintain situational awareness while playing the harp.
If that harp had a side firing sawed off 12ga loaded with sabots and a proximity sensor….
John Venlet, thank you sir, for calling a crick a crick.
Well, Missy, creaks are only in stairs or old wooden floors.
Been many years since I’ve experienced silence, the constant ringing in my ears has forever stolen it.
Dirk
Sometimes I find I have a crick in my neck, although Richard Brautigan did find one for sale by the foot in the back of the hardware store.