I had waded in a standstill stream. Below the water’s surface my hand had reached for smooth, curved rocks. Each of these had resembled planet Earth afar, from outer space. And each one I placed inside my apron’s front pocket. I wandered on some time, never thinking to look again at all the stone planets collected in my dress. Some time ago, I stood ashore; the oar I held was pointed downstream, pointing towards where my little boat was next to float again. I had to paddle past the boulders and their violence. If not, the boat was sure to break. If not, what then? Time ago, I woke upon my back in the middle of the night. On waking on my back full of nothing, I watched the moon above my eyes. It had been blurred by clouds. I thought of nothing of where I had wandered. I thought of nothing of where I had once waded. I thought of all the stock-still chances I had forsaken and forgotten by the water where by myself I had been walking long ago.

Beautiful work. This reminds me of a Salvador Dali painting in words rather than visuals.
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Thank you! That is extremely kind of you to say.
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I agree with Robert. Beautiful, visual words – a travel through a different landscape.
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Thanks!
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Beautiful writing and somewhat bittersweet. We all get to that time when we look back at our lives and wonder if we’d done all we could in the little time afforded us.
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Thanks. So *that’s* what it’s about!
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xo
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And it is just like that…isn’t it…and it passes…for the moment you’ve captured it…hmmm…float like a butterfly, that’s your prose…thank you…
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thanks, as always. if i can..and i’ll let somebody else sting like a bee..usually..
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