A Scorcher I sweat Ahelgany and Monongahela scorch down my face. My lungs toil as woefully inadequate bellows enslaved in the blacksmith's forge. Air is exchanged Breathing but a memory, as the Sun continues its aggressive interrogation. My body a blunt lethargic chisel carves out with somber devotion hot iridescent granite blocks of heat with each step I take. Pressed to my brow water and rocks fill the goblet. Precious droplets of well chilled soothing elixir resuscitate my soul. Water. More precious than Sovereigns. More intoxicating than Absynthe. Sigh.
Our path follows us, Knowing that we were never lost, The path of no path. Is it possible to follow someone else to a place only you can go?