Riverflow

The therapy of drifiting.

Aimless and pointless driving across a skeletal winter forest

On lonely roads down to a mighty river.

Collar pulled up against the bitter wind,

Hands thrust deep down into pockets,

Cigarette stuck to my lips

I hungrily and eagerly breathe it down in huge, satisfying gulps as if it were my last,

As if I were a condemned man

What you might think is the silence of solitude

Is a mad rumbling white water river rush

With crashing tree trunks and boulders.

Wandering along the banks

The grass verges are crisp with frost and the skies are endless, ice cold blue.

It is an invigorating wind bite, sub zero sunshine winter’s morning.

If I were to start something new,

Some river-purged departure,

I would do it here and now,

Staring at the mighty flow as it crashes its way to an invetiable destiny.

I have lost count of the number of times I have stood here as a lost soul,

Promising to start all over again,

Only to return home and carry on being who,I am and what I am.

But, if I changed,

I might never run away to this place ever again.

I like running away. That is how I am, and this is the place I always run to.

If I was going to end anything,

I’d do it here.

One day, on a bleak cold winter’s day like today.

A condemned man,

Frozen to the core,

Beaten by the winds

On the banks of the mighty river, flowing fast to its inescapable destiny.

When that very same destiny befalls me,

I’d like to be here.