Cold Sand Between Your Toes

The dawn came, and with no complaint from me. A night interrupted by body convulsions and sweat soaked blankets. Crawled to my feet under the thumbnail moon. Like some sort of walking dead or wounded animal. One never enjoys regurgitating his last meal. Even if it was delicious. There I knelt my face in the cold sand. Burying my toes. The damp cool sand my only refuge from the fire burning under my skin. It was a beautiful night though. Stars shown clear and true. Everything bathed in moonlight. I could see all of these things clearly in-between my rounds of vomiting. Call me crazy. But, I would rather lose my dinner in the beauty of the desert than in some porcelain receptacle back in the city. Here in the soft sand, than breaking my knees on a filthy linoleum floor. Drinking real water straight from the creek to rinse my mouth. Not this piss poor excuse we have for water nowadays. This chlorine fluoride cocktail. Barely adequate for bathing let alone drinking. Give me a cold creek running free and clean any day. Who knows how long it will last. The numbered few still drinkable in the lower 48 drastically shrinking. Sad days to come if we can't change at least some of our ways. 

Jay William HendersonComment