Obeying Your Thirst

Another Sort of Temple

The shingled gray of clouded
thunder shook me in the trees
on Little Digger Mountain.

Roiling the rain,
white flashes of lightning
seared holes in the sky, and the air

clapped back in on itself, with me,
standing there in the trees
on Little Digger Mountain.

I stepped off the bank,
knee deep, and let the river rush
through me.  Swelling, rain gorged,

the Alsea slapped my thighs.
I cupped my hands
and drank the sky.

Marginally injured, feeling a little creative (Thanks Jeff and Susan), so your stuck with photography and a poem this Thursday 😉

Cheers all!

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