All Submerged

A heartwarming, articulate Corrinne May on CNA was inspiring and to reiterate, "in touch with her writings" So I poise myself above a laptop here, eaten up by envy with tongue protruding, straining to imitate her feat. But no word flows or rolls. No eddying of thoughts or tide of sweet emotions; just a large, peaceful golden field of corns stretching into the distance under an immense orange of the setting sun. The dimness of the night - recalling rest - and my wit offer little help in recuperating from a day of huff and puff for things that don't matter and that fail to make any different to this world. Nothing pleasurable happens as just reward for surviving another day - how typical of a fucked up world. No slender feminine hand to caress and adoring eyes to match. Well, at least, I submerge in the image of the golden field like steamy, long warm bath in a tub.