overwhelmed.  The waters rush by underneath you as you do your best to 
navigate them.  As you hurry, to direct the current, you see small 
glimmering images in the deep.  These images tease you with images of 
possible futures, beautiful scenes of your world working in perfect balance 
and ease.  Sweet, flavorful visions of the other side of the hill are 
whispered to you by unseen lips, of a grander view of an entire universe, 
complete and pure, beyond the preoccupation of your personal garden.  Oh 
cruel waters!  Who has time with all of this to juggle, to consider he 
future?!
	The day is over in a blink.  Exhausted, you measure up the 
damage.  Night is falling, and you fall asleep while still making note of the 
new, updated debt of things you have to worry about tomorrow to add to 
the normal routine.  The list is just layers upon layers.  Sleep entombs you.  
You welcome the unconscious slumber.  In the moonlight, baby puddles 
from today's flood mingle with ancient puddles dating back to the times 
when the land was young.  Together they sing softly with the wind, 
weeping gently for their sick, precious host, cradling secretly all of life in 
their beautiful sorrow.

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16 Renford Road (three)
Page 22