There' s no place like home, and nothing more pleasing than the Southland in the springtime. There is a graciousness to the land here, despite our best efforts to thwart it. Down at the river, the air varies. Among the trees on land, it is dense and humid, so heavy it merges indistinguishably with the drone of mosquitoes. Out on the rocks the air mirrors the motion of the water.
Wet skin can detect the cooling breeze that smoothes and polishes the sunbaked rocks.
The water and air carry your thoughts away, leaving you defenseless, and so the sun beats down, softening your body until you cannot feel where you end and rock begins. You lie here, like Merlin, trapped in the rock, but you don't mind until eventually the wind will return your thoughts and you will realize how sunburned you are going to be and how you really need to go home and get some work done. Your body is grateful to the wind for making your mind shut up, for you have finally been able to rest undisturbed. A Lovely Poem .