Sobo (sobol) wrote, @ 2003-04-09 01:25:00

The Man Watching from the Base of the Mosquito River
My eyes stopped helping me read and ran across the beach then right, toward the stone slabs and rock formations. I saw the two younger hikers hopping water and climbing rock. (I had seen them earlier in the day when they started out from Chapel Rock. I had greeted them and then hobbled down the sandy banks to the beach. Had I stayed close I might have heard the one in the white had accuse me of homosexuality, and the taller one explain that I was just nice.)
I watched them take off their shoes and socks. The boy with the white hat removed his shirt without moving his Indians cap.
I struggled to entertain my mind with written story but my eyes rebelled in the presence of abundant natural beauty. I surveyed the horizon.
I now saw them sucking on fat cigars and slapping bare feet on the wet stone. I saw them blow the smoke- spit the taste. They were arguing, but I couldn’t hear that it was about whether nicotine was a stimulant or a depressant. I couldn’t hear the tall one complain about blisters and his feet. The boy in the white hat burned his fingers on the last few drags of the stubby ashes and flicked the butt into Lake Superior.
I regained control of mine eyes and glanced down at the page. It was one third blank besides a large black three. I closed the cover.

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