Its always happy hour up at the river

As I turn left off of 101 my pulse quickens in anticipation of my souls surrender. Not unlike the abandonment of self doubt, awkward acknowledgement of knowing you were born 24 years too late or the anxiety over the inability to hold it back any longer. the smells are foreign to the average joe from the city, but to a country boy, its cow shit and nirvana..................Keb Mo laying his soul on the road to Austin, starlings flowing into geometric pliancy........road kill doing the inverted turtle dance. ..............Just once, I need to stop and right one of those fury foot stools.
look mom, that animal is fat..... Yes, at least until he pops in a natural diplay of poprock expulsion..........Looking like one of those french bulldogs that fart at inappropriate times. Oh that is another story. Another time, another place.......
i recall an interview with tom waits on the radio. the dj ask tom why he would live in sonoma county of all places. tom's response, "lots to write about". The dj insists, tom, really?  lots to write about, like what??   Tom's response,   "roadkill".
The man is a true demi god of knowledge.....I check the rear view, adjust the glasses, scope out the fat chick with the big hair wondering why Im smiling ear to ear.
the tires squeal as Im sure does she, as I lay my tracks down River Road.......
The vines are coming back to life,the trees partially cloaked from winters shed as I get closer to mile 9.1.... Tonight, the crickets will seranade me to sleep, the chickens will do there typical flight of fancy, jockeying for position for the first and last worm.   As I pull down the dirt road to the oasis of ArtHaus, I know that there is no reach save god to touch me now................. Im home..............Im me.
its happy hour on the river and there is no other place I want to be.

artist / thinker / doer