Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Before the Thunder Slapped

We watched the grass kneel in it's faith to a water that shrugged it's uninterested shoulders past it.

The sun began to drop behind the tree line and fracture into slivers that divided the river into a keyboard of light and dark.

We marveled above it, our eyes full of coors tapping out the contention that ;

ones life is built upon experiences like this.

only the writings and sketches one leaves behind is what one will be judged upon.

How you express yourself, inspired by such moments, is what defines you.

Above the treeline tarnished silver dollars stacked. The sound of thunder slapped and quickened our set up of camp. Tent poles become increasingly disagreeable and rain-flys flap with an unsettled fervor when darkening clouds ponder their course.

(and we lie in it)

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