Have you worked a crowder pea field in July
As the Georgia sun fries
When humidity sits you down every half hour ,
where the weather deals great power
Showers are few and far between
Dirt fills every pocket of your blue jeans
Sweat blinds
The day seems to grind
Humor and inspiration are hard to find
Picking peas by moonlight
Mosquitoes feasting by lamplight
Filling bushel baskets by day
If the good Lord be willing , please call the paper wasp away* ..

On the day contact is made we will be
harvested like worms to supply an ever continuous
" galactic fishing trip*" ...

Particles striking one another
Breaching , interacting , consuming ,
releasing
In color , in darkness
Haphazardly , in order
Harboring immortality
Defining microscopic realities
Passing , moving forward
Invisible
Indivisible*...

The immediate world was bathed in raw kinetic energy
A ****** hovered then returned to hardwood cover
Drops of rainwater began striking the parched surface-
as the breath of the storm invigorated every tree
Songbirds imparted the good news at every possibility
Streams were born , commanded the earth then died

Atlanta is 45 miles far too close
The only sound I want is Bear Creek
flowing , morning cattle off to the
highland , topwater bass in the stream lowland
A snorting old buck in the grassland
A Massey Harris turning plowland
The sound of rain tapping on a tin roof
The clicking of a stallions hoofs
Distant thunder on a lazy Hill Country night
The March moon shining bright* ...

With a plug of morning chew I pulled ever closer
into the thick forested narrows
Dawn fishing along a foggy riverbank
Snapping Shoals turned off the think tank ,
made a mans mind draw blanks
Singing waters drew a quick smile ,
I've returned here quite often from many
a mile with rod and reel , with a wounded
soul seeking my creators control
Walking away reborn
With open wounds sewn
My path redrawn* ...

I've never been more at peace than when my bare feet were in
Camp Creek