There are rivers where there once was concrete and grass and trees. You’d never think a place, within a prairie within a cornfield, would be so slanted. But rivers flow just the same.
Leaves swirl within them as I pull my hood down to block out the rain.
Big, heavy, cold drops.
I want to take my shoes and throw them away. I want to soak up to my ankles in the cold, rapid current. I want to hop on a leaf and see where it takes me. Fight the rapids around the storm drains and find a new time, a new place.
I want to leap and sail across rivers; like the explorers of old books gathering dust. Sail the ocean where we picnicked before and discover land on the other side.
I’ll claim it in the name of Traditional Grammar and Deviant Behavior. I’ll start a glorious civilization; we’ll live for eternity and be corrupted by our own greed.
A mouse on his bark canoe rushes past me on that swirling river –batting his tail on his leafy mates. He sails past for adventures I’ll never have the nerve to see.
I salute to his health and his journey, and then push past the rivers to the hall.
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