Hands and fingertips... so weather-cracked they bleed... and it's difficult to button my shirt. But... I wish these hands were in the river Blue releasing a bow.
Chest cold...so deep each breath rattles and is labored. But... the steely breath of the wind Gods channeling down the middle of the river where I stand would be a welcomed reprieve.
Time...so precious, so demanded and required by other things. Meaningful things no doubt...but meaningless in the scope - time spent on things to get by. But time is what I seek to exhaust on the river Blue.
Scotty reports the roads are navigable...the river is fish-able, but off-colored.
If I get to go tomorrow it will be brief...like a resting bird on a perch.
If I get to go tomorrow it will have to be familiar - no time to explore.
If I get to go tomorrow it will have to be near - no time to hike.
If I get to go tomorrow and the water is off-colored I will choose the color brown...maybe.
If I get to go tomorrow.