Water ran high in the Lewis and Clark River after heavy rains. It was an overcast and humid morning. Green was exploding everywhere.
When we reached our usual spot where the bank slopes to meet the river, Bonnie and Clyde fanned out to eat salad. I dug out the camp stool and TV tray stashed in the root wad of a downed alder. I unfolded the stool and steadied it in the wet ground. I set up the TV tray and noticed three slugs crawling across the rose-decorated black metal. They left tracks of meandering yellow slime that I sensed was a secret message to me. I tried to divine its meaning and struck out.
I rubbed my hands in giddy anticipation of writing about these images and the secret message! I wouldn’t dare remove the slugs from the tray! And in fact, I would nudge them into the pages of my Blue Book! Top that Henry David Thoreau and your cute little woodchuck! I’ve got slugs writing me with mustard secretions! Talk about gold!
Oh thank ye merciful Gods of Verse for the bestoweth upon me of these wonderful slug-induced metaphors. I raiseth a can Rainier to the sky in your glorious honor!
Clyde came over and demanded a treat. He would not leave unless I gave him one. I did.
I begin to write. The slugs joined in, or at least the tiny one did. My mind drifteth with the river. The river runneth. The slugs sluggeth. A barn swallow diveth across the surface. I wanted to swimeth into the channel and cleanseth my body.
What? Something strange was happening to my syntax. I couldn’t help adding “eth” to all the verbs that floweth around and through me. The river brougheth forth the condition, I was certain. The slugs slime might have also made me drunketh. Or had I losteth my mind?
It occurreth to me: shouldn’t we all try to findeth a place where we can’t help ourselves but useth verbs in the “eth” ending?
Yes, we all should.
Wait, I almost faileth to mention that I had another probation meeting this morning.
At the river, with Bonnie and Clyde, I forgeteth.
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