whistling some time in the afternoon, already having forgotten my last spoken word, I look back and smirk at the city, this time it's honest, I know nobody saw That. For a moment I am tempted to lay by a brook or climb a tree, something i would fantasize about in the middle of a hot work day or a long lecture. Instead some ancient song pushes me along, enjoying simply watching my feet. 

sun has fallen and pack has been laid, I scurry about camp setting up one night in a line of millions. suddenly, millions of birds burst out of the lake chasing me with heavy soaked wings. soaking feet bring me back to the paved streets. respite, if only for a short weekend