Where Minds Are Freed Not Molded-

dipping my paddle in and out as I go down main street of the wilderness empire where the road is made of water and the wooden poles hold branches not wire twisting through the changing banks of a gentle but still thunderous river while an approaching mellow darkness causes the birch tree leaves to shiver and the setting sun flickers like a candle through the trembling branches as it says goodnight but the storm wins the race and smothers the sun before it had the chance to fall out of sight as nature is one of the few places where chaos and tranquility walk hand in hand and there is no script for what will happen next when the elements rule over a nameless land