The water churns --
no smooth laminar flow.
Each molecule fights its way
down the mountain.
Sloshing up into evaporation, or
dragged, swirling, across
the rocky bottom.
This is no mighty, muddy river
in a gentle glide.
It's pretty chaos;
just the kind I'm used to.
each bird in a flock oriented differently -- yet, no collisions.
winter sky mixes: thick clouds, thin clouds, no clouds. light dances, briefly.
What makes you nervous?
A combination of neurotransmitters and hormones. An overactive / unchecked limbic system. Stuff like that. Basic physiology.
Don't sell us benevolent kings, such creatures can't exist. An unchecked mind won't self-censor, and lame dogma persists.
a line of pilgrims stretches up the mountain to an unseen sanctum.
a bird-shaped cloud! then the mountain becomes a dreadnought on calm seas.
The mountain feels like it flows as much as the river that sits beside (or more so -- i.e. more smoothly.) The contours of a half-buried fist -- rounded knuckles and fingerbones -- sit in the mountainside, as if jutting out of sand, but soft & green. It looks like the whole hand could lift out of that mountainous topography, and flick away the buildings on the bank, or pluck canoes out of the river. (But now the water is too low and chaotic for any craft to pass.) So, maybe the ancient mountain monster will just put up its dukes to the world, shaking that great, green, soft fist.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 