I'm alone. Eighteen years young.
Standing in water, up to my knees.
The rippling sound of water over stone
Is relaxing me. I am surrounded by trees.
I let my barbed hook go downstream
As I watch the Sun, slowly appease
The darkened shadows of this mountain creek,
For it is opening day; ice cold and has tweaked
My nose and my young cheek.
A little tug on my fishing line,
Set the hook and it will be fine.
If my luck holds I will limit by Nine.

I looked at the wall,
purple it was,
covered with vines
and a pinkish fuzz.
I saw some movement,
off to the side,
when I looked again
my eyes opened wide,
for there, by the trunk
of a short, squatty tree,
a creature was looking
directly at me.
A small creature,
about three feet tall,
something you'd find
if you went to the mall.
It had four legs
and a tail so very long,
I knew at a glance
that it didn't belong
here in the room
looking at me,
so I woke from my stupor
and set it free.
Free from my mind
where it's life began;
free to enter my dream
once more, again.

A bone chilling wind
tree branches laden with ice
power outages

Oh, oh I said
as I turned the next page.
What happened here
is a small outrage.
A page out of order,
is what I saw,
an obvious error
or a simple flaw,
of my writing too fast,
of the words, that I know
that spray from my past.
Wait a minute; Just woah,
it's not a mistake
as it really does matter,
when writing the words
it is not idle chatter.