DAILY PHOTO: Scenes from the Sundarbans
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I ventured beyond civilization, and (by man's definition) I was lost. I knew no near city, state, or nation. Who knows what backwoods borders I'd crossed? I'd drifted down streams: still and rapid tossed, and when boat filled faster than I could bale, I took to foot. Onward at any cost! I passed over mountains and through their vales, and trudged the badlands, unparted by trails. But he who's lost is often he who finds, and I learned history's forfeit details in form of ruins in a sheltered blind. Oh! What novel and beautiful sights are had by lost souls in eternal nights!

shadowland edges,
and a liquid metal stripe:
river sunset.

tall grass sways
beside the serene river
one warm Fall day.

the river’s flow
doesn’t disturb the cloud’s
reflected drift.

it’s cool & rainy,
but the canopy is green:
last days of summer.
Do you feel unease, walking in tall grass? Visceral tension? A primal impression from a time when a wounded beast [on its belly, & with labored breath] retained enough energy for one last lurch to impale its hunter? A raspy groan or bloody burble, and the jerky wave of the grass might be all the warning one got before The End.


rolling stone: no moss?
it thrives in cold, flowing streams
of Himalaya