The Lolo River Lulls

Trickles down 

Fast and slow 

It winds and bends rounding hill sides 

Eagles sore above along with bats, herons, ospreys and owls 

Something magic 

While I stew in the confines of my own skull

The internal panic quickens while surrounded by the pace of peace

I picture myself enjoying tea all day

Settled at the sight of trees and sky

Writing silly thoughts like this down

Fast and slow 

Would it make me happy?

Would I fulfill my purpose here?

Am I fulfilling my purpose here?

Will I sustain fulfillment?

Is losing it… a waste?

The mist of tea tree and lavender 

Fogs into my nostrils

Anything to calm this dialogue

Frankincense and pine?

Could I then finish it?

This chapter of scarcity?