081313 #copperhead The chorus of small round shadows cast from every piece of river rock elongates. The feathered shadow of the top of my head just touches the bow of the canoe now. Something about the way the sound of the stream remains constant in the fading solar intensity just lifts up that loneliness that was subtle before, and paints it in lurid colors, elevates it to almost obscene sublimity. There's something almost comforting about being bludgeoned by the loneliness of the spinning of a watery planet. When I shift my ankles and knees a little, versus the slight stiffness forming there, the gravelly grumble of the bottom of the lumie sounds as much too loud as the sumac leaves are red.