waves of rolling green sweep over the hidden valley in some mississippi mountain state of mind. my hands snag the unfortunate pieces silly enough to find themselves between my index and middle finger. i can feel the warmth rising. the wind pushing the clouds over my head so the sun will stop glaring at me so fiercely. i don’t think He likes me as much as the rest of the world because it feels like He’s trying to rid me of my skin. as if He is peeling away my layers like a drying onion in hopes to release my charismatic state of appealing to my centered self. I always thought the clouds pained Him and now i know why. these “angelic” puffs of vapor that sprinkle acidic cider are of the forgiving type. the relieving type. the silent but loving type.
patches of bright green outline the patches of dark shade. moving, washing over the hills. it would take me all of two hours to make it all the way to the rut of that hill. i’d hafta battle the heat and i don’t want to. i much rather sit here under this tree of whispering leaves and ask the clouds to help me out for just a little bit longer.
one of these days i will open my eyes to verify whether i was right about this sight.
