Every moment serene, sitting perched on tree root, aside the mighty Mississippi. The river at this stage is a docile and friendly companion. The breeze is mightier, vast a complex, cold and harsh. Sitting in contemplation, pleasant situation. Pre-springtime life.
I can see hither the Western banks yet I cannot command the impasse on foot, rather by structure. Nor do I stir; the quality of life in this sedentary placement has left me lazy and awestruck. I spin my head what I can to take it all in; a beautiful sight, in a beautiful land, with nature, my friend.
Brown and dirt is omnipotent; the color of the bag in my hand and the bottle within it, the ground around and all that is found.
Birds, although sparsely fluttering, chirp in the distance and over shoulder.
Leaves moving alerting ears to a passing threat, forget that, just a passing threat.
Just the wind, we catch our breath.
The sun is mediocre-warm, although bright enough for shades.
My hard cider is cold but it warms.
A bell rings when a locomotive is pressing, a whistle, a Northstar train has passed.
I sit back as the water slowly slides south.