I sail down the stream of consciousness, aimlessly, while the moon's chesire grin lights my way.Crickets serenade each other.The wind ruffles the leaves with a rythmic and harmonious beat. I find myself chuckling as those standing at the shore yell at me, "your going the wrong way." Their faces are weathered by the daily storms of petty concerns. How can they tell me the way to go when they rufuse to get wet?