The stream continues its motion of a hound running over rough ground. Rip Van Winkle. Back into self, tentacles withdrawn. Feel about in warm self-flesh. Childhood is a toad in the garden, a happy toad.
All toads are happy and belong in gardens.
Punch the steerman behind the ear. All stuff of the blind emotions. I sit examining my red handful. It's the sun coming up in the morning. Ha, but it's the grey moon too, already up in the morning.