“Islands In The Stream”. Dolly Parton and rest in peace Kenny Rogers. My mom and I were listening to Kenny the other night in the kitchen. It was late-ish, the lights were low and it was a wonderful moment of peace. I never had really listened to Kenny’s music before. Sometimes it’s hard for my mom to detach from her phone. But that night she did. It meant everything for those few little minutes of conversation and laughter.
If I was a deer, dipping my head down to sip at a crisp, cool, clear river before man-kind invaded my territory and before my answers, ancestors had to resign to crossing busy highways and getting hit my cars. Refreshing hydration. It rains and the raindrops bounce off the leaves, making them move and share, shake. They are poor cover, but they look so captivating and alive. Green, chlorophyll leaves, retaining the sun’s energy. To be a caterpillar and chomp chomp chomping away to grow big and strong and bust out of a cocoon, ready to fly, ready to soar and touch new heights and lay eggs. If you listen closely, there is a whooshing sound of rushing water, even though it’s not very fast. It’s lulling, comforting, peace. Crystal clear stream, going down the mountaintop. Little makeshift waterfall when the rock gave out. Punishing policy roundabout Nature. Realize if nothing else. When you’re God you can take the streams in your big hands at both ends, and fold it into balloon animals, and infinity, jump rope, bandana headbead, handband. Anything. Old wizened God, with white beard and hands as big as Mount Everest. Earthquakes with every forward footstep. Personified nature and religion to make sense of it all. Wet stream, swimming fish. Bear claw dives in and feeds itself. Rocks on the surface, sticking out from the bottom. God twist ties that river and throws it back like a fisherman fishing for sport. SimCity disaster. If it was all a simulation, how could I be mad? Rubber bunches of oats. PlayPlace. Fantasy world of imagination. Will we ever be more than just children of God?