the water was here two weeks ago. nature sank the reeds and weeds though, with sloshed ice and snow pushed against these riverbanks. slow moving massive bullish currents like molasses combed out bent mud streaked grasses. spring high tides kept tidy lines of woven waves. i look upriver. cool wind brings shivers then freezing breezes. one hand to steady as one finger traces absently downward through mineralized seasons. as dust falls from break walls calcified wave lined stains recall a riverful of water once stood where i stand. breathless, my guess is that the ground where my hand rests only recently has resettled. the fresh borne soil is restless because these days it rests less as hikers and bikers cut paths like wounds across its fresh face. it knows that something chaotic stormed through this tract as a reminder of what owns this land. former trees broke and cracked lay askew on their backs and are strewn along the soft river edges with bristled ledges. i sit atop a 40 foot pine and consider for some time how majestically it lays at my feet, and weeps. the week keeps me in place just like this. in stasis. in its fist. stuck on the bank of work fueled spaces the constant grind erases traces of me. and like that mighty pine all i really want to do is lay down and stay down. trampled by elements outside my control. flattened by a force that consumes me whole. and unable to hear a distant warning bell toll that the deluge is rising.