The light and shadow dance like ants across the surface, static on the tv after rewinding the vhs tape (an old memory) frantic, fretting, confused against the gentle babble of the stream. It folds around the rocks, a caress, firm, as it continues onwards, unblinking. The tension holds for a second before breaking as my fingers slide in, slimy, wet. I'm crouching on the bank, grass overgrown and soft beneath my feet, giving, a cradle, a holding of my own roots in contrast to the unforgiving hardness pressing back on the road
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