floating rippled

Look in the shadows, look in the shadows.

Someone says something about the Whiskey Rebellion, someone remembers a story about the Battle of Fallen Timbers.

We relate, somehow we wait.



We linger here in the silence of half remembered college newspaper stories. Of memories of van rides and staplers and interviews and headlines and articles on student government and concerts and drinking and sorority dances and fraternity keg parties and moonlight walks from academic buildings to residence hall. 
We linger in thoughts of pizza and music and this and that. I remember wanting to somehow become a
 split-second saint sacrificing myself to save all those who I love and all those who I profess to love with the gentle gracefulness of a floating rippled nimbus cloud.



And all the ladies ordered grilled salmon on spinach while the men recited Washington's Farewell Address.



Sigh and sink down in groups of chattering, polished teeth talking of celebrities, talking of politics, searching for something to believe, searching for something to hold on to.

Finding momentary interest in the mystery of a stranger, in the mystery of a chocolate covered strawberry on a random street corner.