SpearPoint Publications

A simple solution to a series of broken promises was delivering a barrel of beer to the nudist camp annual picnic. He hadn’t meant to be a flake and disappoint his girlfriend by promising to take her to multiple naked events, then not coming through, but his fear of people seeing his tiny penis kept him canceling at the last moment. At least by providing the beer for the gathering he showed he cared about her even if he wasn’t there.

When they’d first started dating he had no clue she was a nudist and that the foundation of a good relationship for her was based on baring all at public outings. Now that he had to accept the fact that she’d be out showing off her body while he massacred aliens on his video game he realized that opposites can indeed attract. He was actually amazed that she stuck with him but figured his being super rich had to have something to do with it. Every woman he dated had their agenda and this one didn’t spend thousands on clothes or mind his being obsessed with gaming, so things could be and had been worse. Finding love in the modern world was a complex minefield to traverse, what with political correctness, emotional sensitivity, and gender equality. Not that he wanted a me Tarzan, you Jane kind of relationship, but someone that liked to bake brownies and loved to play VR games would be fun to be with. Especially since he liked to do housework and putter in the garden when he wasn’t busy running his ride share empire.

There were times he wished he’d been given a muscular babe magnet body but wondered if the trade off would have been not having a clue about making money. At least being rich allowed him to travel and live a lifestyle that was generally carefree, and maybe having a tiny penis increased the blood flow to his brain. But it still would have been nice to have the option of running naked through the woods with his girlfriend on days like this. Hopefully, the picnickers would enjoy the beer and she’d bring home a grilled hot dog and some potato salad.

He got so distracted by thinking about what he could be doing that the aliens almost overran the outpost he’d built on Mars so he had to get a good grip on the controls and vaporize them before things got out of hand. While doing that the doorbell rang. He wasn’t expecting anyone so he almost didn’t answer but in the end he was glad he did. A door to door salesman carrying a brown leather satchel greeted him with a smile.

“Good afternoon, sir,” he said. “I represent the Mega Jumbo penis enhancer company. Could I interest you in taking a look at our new product line?”

Suddenly, it didn’t matter if the aliens took over the entire galaxy. If he could go to the next year’s nude picnic and drink beer with his girlfriend she might take an interest in learning how to play games, and their relationship could flourish.

“Why yes,” he replied. “I think I would. Please come in.”  

Rebuilding her psyche after losing the love of her life felt like an endless search for the missing fragments of a shattered crystal vase. Regardless which way she turned it was like being stuck on a grid where she drove several streets over and over but could never find the exit and a way to move on. The hole in her heart kept bleeding the elements of her soul into a swirling void that sucked her energy away and left her spent and reluctant to rise to another challenge. Lifting her head from the pillow after another nightmare riddled sleep was like chewing through iron bars with tortured gums. Her eyes became dark hollows where the light refused to shine and her mouth forgot how to smile. She knew she should be like a laughing clown in public and hide the flood of tears with a made up grin instead of radiating misery but couldn’t get there. Leaden feet dragging her through the days kept leading to destinations she’d prefer to avoid. She didn’t want to die but often wondered what living with pain offered by way of a future.

People beg the universe for a reversal of fortune and circumstance and are frequently disappointed when their pleas fall on deaf ears. But only those who listen to their own entreaties and learn to cope, adapt and change find those treasures they seek. She understood this intellectually but realized that her emotional well-being was damaged and couldn’t or shouldn’t be dependent on outside forces to heal. Billions of people had suffered the slings and arrows of failed romance before her and would again, so the question was did she really need a lover to find happiness? Or could she right the ship and set a better course on her own? Could she learn to be alone without being lonely?

One morning she woke from a fitful sleep and brewed a pot of coffee, then took a steaming cup of it onto her balcony and sat in an east facing chair. The sun climbing over the horizon offered a spectacular view of nature’s color palette enhancing a cloudbank with streaks and swirls. A flock of geese flew past while a dew-covered butterfly flitted its way through the plants on her railing. Despite her inner turmoil she began to observe, listen, and ultimately absorb the beauty of the moment. She suddenly realized that she’d overlooked one of life’s biggest truisms for too long and that the moment we are currently experiencing is all we ever have. That the past is gone and the future is yet to be. And that if we fail to find joy by experiencing that moment we remain forever wanting and unfulfilled.

She sat still for an hour, listening, watching, breathing, sipping her coffee and reintroducing her soul to life’s symphonic progression. Her spirits slowly lifted and her heart shed it’s shackles one by one until it regained a rhythm she’d thought lost forever. Watching an ant carrying its load back to its family reminded her that everyone and everything struggles to survive and that her burdens could be borne with dignity instead of sorrow should she choose. It was time to rejoin the living and no longer march with the living dead

Finding a spot to sunbathe that summer was like being part of a fleeting romance on a cruise ship. A few caresses, a few warm kisses, then abandonment. The kids wanted to set up a lemonade stand but that wasn’t practical when the rain seldom let up. A brief window of brightness would run and hide until several days later, then repeat the pattern. Sitting inside all the time led to lots of frowns and a restlessness that defied satisfaction. You can only play Monopoly so many times before it becomes boring, and when your only exercise is eating you get sluggish and fat. Doing yard work became next to impossible due to long wet grass clogging the mower blades and its wheels leaving muddy ruts in its trail. Perennial flowers were slow to bloom in an omnipresent overcast. At times it sounded like a crazed drummer was practicing their chops on my roof. By mid-July low lying areas were standing pools, and creeks and rivers were well beyond flood stage. I kept expecting to see salmon migrating up Main Street and spawning in the park.

August was warm and led to the irrepressible nature of kids breaking out swimsuits and their SlippySlide, then frolicking in the continued downpour. Rather than feel put upon, I valiantly wiped up muddy footprints when they came inside and laundered dozens of soggy towels. At least they weren’t glued to devices and on their way to becoming sedentary introverts, although I’ll admit I was looking forward to school starting and providing a respite for me. I’d be able to go back to the office during the week and return to being a full-time parent on the weekends. Just before Labor Day I was put to a test of my compassion and tolerance due to a visitor arriving on our doorstep. A pregnant, half-drowned cat was curled up on the mat when I stepped out to check the mail.

People have often called me hard-hearted for not adopting pets. They’ve banged on about how I’m cheating my kids by not having a dog or cat they could bond with without understanding how severely I’m affected by their presence. Red eyes, constant sneezing and breathing constriction aren’t a good trade off for taking on the expense and responsibility for their care. As soon as the kids saw the cat they begged me to let it come in. Their pleading eyes and voices rocked me to the core but my mind was telling me I should call the shelter and have it picked up. To my credit, it only took an hour of coercion before I made them a deal. It could stay in the garage if they took full responsibility for its care, never let it in the house, and washed their hands after every encounter. I knew there would be incidental contact with hair clinging to their clothes but as long as they tried hard to spare me I’d give it a shot. And, besides care and feeding they’d have to go online and find homes for the kittens when they were weaned. They eagerly set up a bed and a feeding bowl, then fawned over the refugee for an hour before I called them in for dinner.

Fortunately, the universe decided that I needn’t suffer unduly for my act of kindness. A week after the kittens were born, momma cat chose to relocate her family. On one of the rare days of sunshine she carried them away while we were out shopping and the garage door was open. Evidently, nursing the kittens elsewhere was more desirable than enjoying our accommodations. Of course, the kids cried and looked around for her but she was nowhere to be found. I called the feral cat people so they could keep an eye out, then spent the evening consoling the kids. It finally quit raining the week school started and being around other kids quickly refocused their attention. Momma cat became a fond memory and life moved on. If the subject of pets ever arises again I plan to suggest a household robot. Circuit boards and plastic won’t make me sneeze

I was at the rodeo and wishing that I was anywhere else because what my companion purported to be a lot of fun turned out to be a pack of lies. “It’s not just a bunch of yahoos,” she’d said. “It’s a family event open to everyone.” My mind hadn’t wanted to believe her but my heart wanted to share an experience with someone so interesting so I agreed to go. We hadn’t even cleared the parking lot before the first rude comment scorched my ears and I thought about bailing then but didn’t. That was a mistake. Walking away would have saved me from a very trying day.

I wasn’t dressed glitzy that day. A simple dress with flats, conservative jewelry, and makeup, and a light brown wig. Even so, I got stared and laughed at as we walked towards the grandstands in search of our seats. As soon as we sat down, people moved away from us. “EEW! lesbians” one woman in boots, jeans, and a straw cowboy hat exclaimed as she grabbed her kids and beat a hasty retreat. I ignored her and tried to concentrate on the events happening in the arena but there were constant murmurs about drag queens from others in the crowd. At that point I dug my heels in so to speak and resolved to tough it out instead of giving into prejudice. I could tell my companion was regretting inviting me to something she’d honestly expected to be fun. Going to rodeos was part of her childhood and sharing it with me was her way of giving me a glimpse of who she was.

It was a hot day, so when I got thirsty I headed to the concession area to get us a couple of cold beers. I’m so fearless when negotiating public gatherings that I didn’t beg her to accompany me. Besides that, her favorite event was transpiring at the moment so I wanted her to enjoy it. I expected more snide remarks but even with all the machismo being displayed violence didn’t feel imminent. A few tough guys made sure to bump me hard as I walked through the throngs but they kept moving when my temper didn’t flare and my mouth stayed shut. In fifty years of crossdressing I’ve learned not to give bigots an excuse to be stupid. Letting them feel they got one over on me is less damaging than bruises and broken bones.

The hardest part of the day for me was walking past the MAGA booth and being jeered. I wondered how hatred and xenophobia were going to make us great again. Weren’t we already a great nation? It seemed to me that a return to the dark ages would only benefit the few and not the many. But the beers were nice and cold and needed drinking so I gave my new friend hers and put a dent in mine after regaining my seat. We laughed at the clowns, cheered on the contestants, and basked in the sun just like everyone else. Despite efforts to spoil our day and create discomfort we shared the moments wrapped in our own little bubble. Simple kindness and tolerance would have made things even better, but I’ve learned not to expect it. But when people share the world with me willingly I always appreciate their ability to recognize the beauty of diversity. Though I don’t agree with someone I can’t find it in my heart to hate them or attempt to void their existence. If I ever go to the rodeo again I’ll probably dress in feathers and rhinestones. Might as well make a statement if I’m going to get laughed at anyway. I’m sure there were plenty of cool people there who would have rescued me if someone tried to hurt me. I just didn’t bump into them that day.   

A pile of laundry on an unswept floor held no interest. Nor did the remains of a birthday cake she baked for herself out of habit rather than a desire to celebrate. The ants would eventually carry it away. Her life had become a sandcastle eroded by each passing tide. Ramparts breached, turrets crumbling, the penthouse sinking to the basement, leaving her tattered flag lying on a lonely beach. Were it not for auto deposit and pay, an eviction notice would arrive with each post.

The kids never called. They were daddy’s girls and she was the evil stepmom despite loving their father fiercely and never treating them badly. His passing made her a thing of the past. The days no longer held hope, only shattered dreams, and unfulfilled promises. A life without meaning, colorless, and devoid of bright music. Only a dull symphony of despair remained to serenade hours filled with loneliness. No joy could dwell in such a barren heart, whose every beat prolonged her agony.

It hadn’t always been that way. The bloom of youth once caressed her skin and her  eyes shone with anticipation of each new dawn propelling her to greater horizons. Setbacks were overcome with a seemingly boundless wealth of optimism that eventually became vulnerable to tragedy and pain. Had she known what lay ahead, she would have surrendered early rather than suffer gradual dissolution of her happiness. To be nothing but a shriveled shell awaiting the death knell seemed scant reward for valiant effort.

She’d tried to make sense of it all. To believe there was something waiting when one journeyed on from a world filled with pestilence, war, misery, and greed, but failed to find comfort in words delivered by hypocrites. She’d struggled to care about others but was repugned by those who exploited anyone in their path for money and returned nothing but disdain. The lack of concern for the welfare of society became an ulcer in her bowels she couldn’t ignore when her naivety faded. She would die alone but unafraid, and eternal darkness would be greater comfort than a light-filled existence in a world without love.

She was glad that cancer was eating away at her organs and they would fail soon. She wasn’t brave enough to commit suicide. She’d been offered hospice care but couldn’t stand the thought of someone pretending everything would be fine and that she would be missed. When the neighbors smelled the stench of her corpse and called someone to cart it away, what little she owned would be sold or donated and her home would be seized to pay back taxes. She’d arranged to be cremated years earlier when her husband was still alive. No urn would be required as no one remained who cared enough to tend her ashes.

When her little teapot started whistling, she shuffled from her chair to the stove and poured its warmth into an old mug she won at a carnival long ago. Like her, its surface was crackled and worn, Cradling it, she stared out the window as photographs from her life turned on the pages of her mind. Daffodils were pushing their way into the light and spring lurked just around the corner. She doubted she’d see this year’s roses but hoped the new tenant would enjoy their scent like she had over the years and appreciate the beauty they bring to an often gray world.    

The idea of having an organ transplant was spooky. I wondered if having someone else’s tissue in my body would cause mixed signals being sent to my brain and result in behavior changes. If my new heart came from an executed murderer would I develop sudden urges to slit the throats of snotty clerks or moms who couldn’t control their screaming children? If it came from a preacher would I cease being agnostic and start praying all the time? What if it came from a hooker? Would I be high class or a street walker? One of my worst fears was that I’d turn into a racist bigot instead of being a live and let live kind of girl. I had so many reservations it was tempting to just check out quietly and hope I’d made enough of a mark in the world that someone would remember me. My doctor kept telling me that all I would feel is better, but my dreams were still filled with weird scenarios.

Two days before the surgery was scheduled I decided to let chance decide whether I went through with it or not. I made myself a cocktail, then sat at the dining room table with a deck of cards. I shuffled them, then covered my eyes with one hand and cut the deck with the other. If the card showing at the bottom of the cut was red, I’d do it. If it was black, I’d call the crematory and confirm my reservation. There was a side of me that wanted to go two out of three to make sure, but waffling wasn’t the true me. Clear cut decisions had been the mantra of my life. Since you’re reading this story it’s obvious the card was red and I went through with it.

At first, everything seemed the same and I felt the doctor had been right. Lately, however, I’ve come to believe my organ donor had to have been a hippie. There are mornings that I wake up, then go to the garden and put flowers in my hair. I recently traded in my Subaru for an old Volkswagen van with tie-dyed curtains. The other day I went to the fabric store and bought some paisley cloth to make a kaftan to wear with my peace symbol necklace. I walk around humming songs about world peace, smiling on my brother, and everybody getting along right now. While the world devolves into a war torn ghetto filled with hatred and prejudice, I give people hugs and tell them I love them.

It's sad to think that so many people vote to be under the thumb of separatists and have the personal freedoms of others restricted by draconian laws, but the heart I received is filled with hope and the belief that humans are not inherently evil. It beats with the joy of watching birds fly into a magnificent sunset or hearing the ocean kiss the sand of a windswept beach. It tells my eyes to see the beauty in all things while understanding their dual nature. It tells my mind to not dwell in darkness and ignore the wonders of light, color, and diversity. It cannot accept the sadness of a world shackled by lack of acceptance and constricting agendas. That heart fills my veins with a life brimming with happiness and the possibility of cohabitation. It sings songs composed by a soul fueled by love. It seeks to share and build, rather than hoard and destroy. Whoever left this world and passed their heart to me has earned my undying gratitude. Hopefully, I can use it to be an instrument of positive change and compose a symphony of peace, love, and joy, transcending the passage of time.           

After my wife left me for another woman, my life was like watching a horrible movie where I was swimming upstream trying to scale Niagara Falls. I felt like I would drown if I stayed in the same house, kept the same job, and associated with friends we had in common. Wherever I went I couldn’t escape the feeling they were laughing at me behind my back. Getting drunk didn’t ease the pain and only succeeded in making things worse. I got mouthy and rude and became a pain in the butt to everyone in the bar, so I quit going out to make sure I didn’t end up in jail. I thought about stalking her so often that I knew I had to move as far away from her as possible. The far side of the moon felt like it would be too close but there had to be somewhere I could go and heal. That’s how I wound up booking four consecutive around the world cruises and becoming an online stock trader to support myself.

Being on a ship simplifies making new friends since there’s basically nowhere to go. You can stay in your cabin and generally avoid people if you choose, but self-imposed isolation can turn into a major drag and lead to jumping overboard and being eaten by sea creatures. When I’m not at my desk working at making money I enjoy all the amenities the ships offer and interact with people I’ll never see again instead of wallowing in lonely girl misery. It still feels like manic denial sometimes but overall I’m getting better, except for the fact I’ve become a shopaholic.

It started with buying a rundown villa on the Italian Riviera. I was making money hand over fist so having a new place to live when I was done cruising sounded great. According to the brochure there are olive and fig trees galore on the property, as well as several varieties of citrus and acres of grape vines. The place hadn’t been well maintained for a few years due to the owner dying so the idea of a fixer upper got my juices flowing. That led to shopping sprees in every port we visited. Arranging for my purchases to be shipped to my future residence was necessary since I couldn’t store them in my cabin. I now possess hundreds of shoes, dresses from all parts of the world, and enough furniture and décor items to fill several shipping containers. When this final cruise is over it’s going to be fun to unpack it all. Hopefully, the caretaker I hired through an online interview has done a good job of storing things as they arrived. 

The dilemma now is that I’m reluctant to bond with someone and share that life awaiting my arrival. Sure, I’ve had great sex and fun with people I’ve met on board, but they went away at the end of the cruise and I had no desire to follow them. Getting over someone I really loved has turned out to be harder than I thought it would be. The idea of trusting someone with my heart and hoping they won’t break it gives me sweaty nightmares. Not to mention they might only be interested in my money. I guess the best thing to do will be to focus on rehabbing my new home, socializing in my fabulous new wardrobe, and letting the cards fall where they may. If I meet someone incredible that will be great but if I don’t I’ll at least have a great base for my golden years. I can travel to Paris, have lunch in Rome, or pop over to London for fish and chips and a pint. Endless possibility awaits now that I can afford it. We’ll be docking in Miami tomorrow and my days at sea will finally come to an end. I’ll be flying out the next day and am determined not to look back. It’s hard to start over sometimes but I know it can and often has to be done. Whatever the future brings I plan to greet it with a smile and a great glass of wine from my very own vineyard.    

Greasewood Flats had been a safe haven for crooks for years, but that changed drastically after John Three Crows came to town. His pistol packing skills were legendary throughout the Sidewinder Hills and not only did criminals fear him, women constantly vied for his attention. When he wasn’t busy running thugs out of town, he could be found at someone’s dinner table or serenading them with a voice that could coax birds from the trees. Sometimes he thought about hanging up his six shooter and pursuing a career in opera but didn’t want to live with the excess weight opera singers notoriously carried around. He liked being a lean, mean, fighting machine and collecting bounties to bank for his retirement years.

At the moment, he was sitting on a shaded bench at the train depot waiting for a payroll delivery for the miners at Cactus Copper. He was hoping no one felt like dying that day while attempting to hijack the cash but the stupidity and desperation of criminals could never be underestimated. He’d normally have a deputy with him but Oliver Redhawk had been bucked off his horse the day before and was laid up with a broken leg. That meant he had an extra pistol tucked in his belt and a rifle leaning against the wall beside him. He didn’t see a dust cloud on the horizon that meant the Langston gang was riding into town, so he breathed a small sigh of relief. Taking all of them out would be difficult alone.

When the train pulled in with the sounds of screeching brakes and hissing steam, he picked up his rifle and sauntered over to the baggage car door. Ken Gladstar, the paymaster for Cactus Copper was waiting there with two muscular miners who’d help load a mule cart with bags of money. Three Crows planned to ride along while they wound their way through the hills to the mine office, then head toward Margy Hunter’s spread for a steak dinner. Margy was a great cook and he always looked forward to one of her meals. Later, he’d stop for a drink at Mabel’s Saloon and Mercantile before heading for his cot at the jailhouse. The cells were empty for a change and he was glad to be freed from the care and feeding of unwelcome company. Any savings from his yearly budget helped his bank account grow.

After delivering the payroll to the mine and striking out for Margy’s, his plans for the evening suddenly changed. He came around a bend in the trail and heard the sound of splashing water and female giggles, so he went to investigate. Janet, Heather, and Suzi, three dancehall girls from the next town over were sitting on the creekbank wiggling their toes in the water. A picnic basket sat on a red blanket near to hand and all the ladies held glasses of wine. Having such a great opportunity to sing for his supper couldn’t be allowed to slip away, so he dismounted, ambled into the clearing, tipped his hat, and said howdy.

The moon rose full that evening, causing coyotes to howl like they were accompanying his lilting songs. The girls hadn’t brought extra wine so he’d pulled a pint of whiskey from his saddlebag and sipped it slowly while nibbling delicious treats from the basket between tunes. It was almost midnight when he hitched his horse in front of the jail, unsaddled him and took care of its needs. The sounds of a piano playing at Mabel’s echoed in the still night but unless a fight broke out his presence wasn’t required. It felt good to take off his boots and settle in for the night in a town whose safety he’d secured. The longer it stayed that way the better he’d feel. It would be even better if the Langston gang signed up to ride with Pancho Villa and fell by the wayside in Mexico. Everyone he had to bury took another bite out of his budget and supporting the undertaker wasn’t a priority for him. Maybe he could lower the death rate so severely that the undertaker moved away. It was doubtful, considering human nature, but something to ponder while drifting off to sleep.   

The night I killed her we were parked by a rippling pond, drinking wine from paper cups and celebrating our one year anniversary. When we first got together everyone thought we were too different to be a good couple but we’d proved them wrong until then. She was the favorite child in her family and I was the black sheep of mine but there’s an old saying about opposites attracting. I suppose that’s true with magnets, so it must apply to human relations. Anyway, I’d bought her a Chia Pet bust of that famous painter guy and a box of assorted chocolates, and she gave me a gift pack of shower gels and a bottle of cheap perfume. We both pretended to be excited while secretly wishing for something romantic like tickets to an Engelbert Humperdink concert.

I remember the radio being on and crickets chirping. I remember counting stars through the windshield while the moon slid below the horizon. I remember how warm the blood felt on my hands, but I don’t remember what we argued about. From what they tell me, I had a psychotic episode, blacked out, and stabbed her repeatedly with the corkscrew. They say I’ll never get out of here but they don’t realize how devious I am and that I have a plan. When I escape, I’ll go back to that pond and try to remember exactly what we argued about. It must have been something big to cause me to go ballistic. Sure, I’d tortured the neighbor’s cat when I was young and burned ants with a magnifying glass but I was sure I’d grown out of that type of behavior. Well, except for throwing a perfectly good dog onto a freight train headed to who knows where. I always hoped it would get adopted by whoever found it, so that surely counted as good karma.

Other than wanting to wander down memory lane there’s no real reason to escape. I don’t have to work. I get fed anyway and the doctors give me drugs to keep me happy. The grounds are nice when they let me go outside and I’ve made friends. I just wish they weren’t so catatonic and prone to drool. Game night is fun. We get to play bean bag toss as long as no one lobs them at the staff. We used to play checkers until Mattie swallowed six of the red ones and choked to death. Watching her flop around on the floor like a fish was fun but now everything has to be bigger than your mouth.

I told my therapist that I might remember what set me off if he bought me a bottle of wine and played some Engelbert, but he said that alcohol wouldn’t go well with my pills. I think he said that cause he’s secretly in love with me and wants to keep me around. I told him that girls my age should be able to drink if they want to but evidently there’s rules. My parents are coming for their annual visit tomorrow so the nurse curled my hair for me and laid out my green dress and sandals for the occasion. It’ll be a nice change from slippers and inmate sweats. One of the coolest thing about them coming is the goodie bag they bring. I used to share the chocolate and the chips but now I eat them all myself because a year is a long time between treats. The only regret I have about that night is not buying a bottle with a screw cap. If I had, my girlfriend and I might be married by now. They say hindsight is twenty, twenty, but you can’t change the past no matter how hard you try. 

The road ahead, the road behind

The road ahead is a mystery,

The road behind, a memory.

The road ahead is often gray,

While behind the sky is blue,

But just to keep the balance

The opposite is also true.

Ahead is beautiful, the rear majestic,

Turn around and see from where you came,

You’ll forever want to go back again.

Ahead brimming with unfulfilled promise,

Behind lie footsteps in mud and sand.

Ahead tomorrow, behind yesterday,

What difference left or right?

Over, around, under, through, backward, forward,

It’ll always be you living in the now.

Going nowhere, somewhere, that’s where you are,

As you wander, mountains sit and watch you seek.

Speak to me

River, sweet river life,

Flow by and through me today.

Spin me songs of time and travelers,

Crossing your waves and windswept ripples.

Carry tree news to my ears awaiting,

Messages from inner earth through roots and veins.

River, sweet river life,

Flow over and around me with love.

Rocks, I am touching your essence,

I swim in your breast like a fish, oh river.

I sit in sand wiggling my toes,

On banks where egrets play.

While glittering, soft, downy grasses,

Reflect sunlight from that wondrous orb,

Casting rainbows from a cascading waterfall.

River, sweet river life,

Deliver me from toil and trouble,

Into soft cool breezes of thy oasis.