Massive thunder growls and bounces down the hill. Thick woods forest dances dense dervish whirling wheeling throwing thunder bouncing down down down the hill.

When the rain hits it soaks and my unpolished toenails find mud puddles fit for fishin'. I hear a friend's laugh, so identifiable. I see a red metal art structure out my tent window. Somewhere dogs bark and a female's voice lifts up. I hear there is a small cemetery just up the up the up the hill.

What if no one ever dances with you because they are busy watching you making you the instaperformer instead of a part of the group. Feels weird and good and isolating sometimes.

Is this a party in the woods? A pre-Burn with poison ivy, muddy shins, chains and harnesses, exploding things and four portapotties, though I prefer the ground. Ground seems to prefer me, too.

With him reading laying there next to me. Touching me, the skin on the sides of our bodies the whole length against each other. I am typing on a computer in the middle of deep Kentucky's Land Between the Lakes National Park. There are three pyres of cut wood, ready for propane and a match, getting saturated by humidity and burst of rain. I especially like the thunder.

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