Blah Blah Blah.

Here's another story I found from 2006 when writing was a playground for me, something to do for fun like video games for others. That's when it was pure and natural... now I've become institutionalized, and everything's business. Oh, what a rogue and peasant slave am I. Apparently, in this I described one thing from three perspectives. Guess and I'll tell you at the end, maybe:

I was ashamed in their beauty. The clouds were thick and I could hear them talking as they past over head: "We may not make it, but look at all we've seen." The water from the pond grabbed at my feet before retreating. Oh, but the swans! For a little while they put me in a trance, and I believed they had created the earth and myself.

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I didn't see them unless I looked. Even if I stared their white blended with the clouds and became monotonous. The only part of them recognizable were their black feet like footprints in the sky. I swam in circles and at odd angles as one set of footprints disappeared and was replaced by another somewhere else.

This was how the world turned,

not immediate

but slowly.

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There was a man standing before me. I wanted for him to swim to me from the dirt so I could cleanse him, keep him under like the swans which found refuge in me. "Come and wade, child-man," I wanted to coax. Yet, I think we have always done that and without much attainment. Today, he was my only occupation as he stood staring, seeing for the first time. I wanted to rise up and swallow him, have him forever. But how the earth cups me, cuts me off. Only if those clouds would rain. But they keep traveling, deep in conversation.

3 Perspectives on swans; 1st man, 2nd fish, 3rd water.