i'm fairly certain that when i sit perfectly still on a rock no one can see me.
i'm getting good at becoming the rock, staring daggers into the trees and sky, trying to figure out what they are up to.
as far as i can tell, trees don't feel bad about stretching toward the sun; they don't feel like ******* reaching for what they need most.
they don't even move. they make themselves home and get stronger and stronger; and even if they get knocked down they are beautiful little birds hopping, critters scampering and golden light stretching.
once i sat on a rock and stared daggers into the creek. huge pieces of ice would suddenly break off and join the rush of water, always moving, that crazy sun a ball of gas in the sky making the ice in the creek melt.
i really don't know what to do with myself other than watch this drama unfold; sit still on rocks and watch, and wait.
and i always leave in a fit of fleeting glory; where i temporarily, for a tiny instant see myself as a thing of the earth turning into something magnificent and powerful...
and then it is gone.
and i think about how silly my life is how i try so hard to give myself an interesting story to write.