on the Flint

Eternity is the water of this river,headed slowly,minute movement, to the Gulf of Mexico.The stand of pines and deciduous trees breath,the river breaths and moves and ripples with the wind.They speak of forever,
being solid,standing,moving,
being alive.It fills,changes,leafs out,rushes and stands.

The Indians saw this and named it Thronateeska,flint colored.I wish the name hadn't been discarded.I see it as they did,constant,unworried,unhurried in all its changes.Being here now,I am quiet,no band, no show.

For some reason New year's Eve in New York comes to mind.That screaming throng down below the TV stand.Then into my thought pops Justin Bieber.By all accounts, he is a decent kid,and he is being introduced to Carlos Santana.The young performer is gushing now, the obligatory praise that may be deserved,who knows ?How many times will this kid have to do this whether it is true or not ?How many times will he have to do this little head fake and be untrue to himself?

Here,no applause is necessary.