Vagabond Verisimilitude and the Mendicant Muse

of Sun Wind Winding Way Water and Whimsy 

The sun was out, and the temperature had risen. The previous day’s flooding that saturated much, was gone, having receded and also, I suppose been absorbed into the land. Some wind was there, and the paths were winding around trees and then going along the river and over bridges wooden but strong and reliable. 

Away from the world, and sometimes other good souls went past, enjoying the routes and the sanguine hint of spring after a long and horrendous winter. One could think of shiny crystals, old books, smiles, coffee, blankets, music, the height of summer, paintings of wild wolves drinking water under the moonlight, and many good things, like some kind of visual manifestation. Or even of divinity, incarnations, gurus and sacred texts, plus the cosmos and its destiny and that of individual soul destinies. Where had everything come from? and where was it going? Sun star lake breeze the earth and trees, cities and countryside’s, billions literally, of souls traversing. Existence was, if anything, big. 

A stand of trees had a stone under it, and then another tree more in the sun had a group of smaller rocks washed by the rains and previous waters. Tall beige and golden strands of some kind of wheat-like growths or reeds did reach up confidently to the brightness of the upper air then. And down the way,- flowing water and at times a broken branch for the too strong and fierce nocturnal storms. 

But yes, then the day and sun, a treat from the universe for a nature writer, a solitary wandering poet, a soul something like a mixture of vagabond and visual artist, mendicant and monk, wanderer and way-shower.