by Steve Mitchell

Ahead, in the center lane, there’s a slow moving truck.  Traffic flows around it.

I think of a boulder, at rest, in a fast stream.

It’s nice to think of nature.

But, wait.  The truck and the traffic are made of the same stuff.

It’d make more sense to imagine a boulder, at rest, in a fast stream of boulders, a stream of lethal, hard-charging boulders flowing down a hill and bunching up behind a slow moving boulder before rolling around it, no, not a stream at all, maybe, but an avalanche of boulders.  Yeah, an avalanche of boulders, and the boulders are piloted by impatient primates, by monkeys, by crazy, little monkeys, by self-absorbed, aggressive, careless monkeys hell-bent on escaping the boulder avalanche while cursing the lone, hapless, slow-rolling monkey, on the slow moving boulder, in the middle of the boulder avalanche, for keeping them from their appointed, monkey duties.


It’s nice to think of nature.

he drops a pebble
into a hole
filled with pond


© Steve Mitchell 2015