Down by Indian Creek the leaves are turning back to that
indigenous condition of an innocence before conditioning.
An unnamed stream is flowing with this hydrologic river to
the absolute unknowing of the sea.
And suddenly the dream of summer celebrations on a sandbar
in the middle of
this wide expanse of legendary knowledge fades like
chlorophyll in hillside foliage.
There is a red-tailed hawk in pure blue skies, yellow double
lines on a river road, and orange sunshine
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