Stevenson don’t come round here no more, he was laid up in the cave of Nureger for weeks contemplating space time, the relative nature of grass growing on hills. He was last seen walking west towards Fair Play, or was he heading east toward Due West. He had to get past 6 mile to get there but ain’t no one seen hint of him yet. We all want to know what he found out, what he saw what he dreamt in the deep meditation in the dark looking inward to the light, the colors, the flying mountain, the cloud in the forest, the butterflies in the alleyways, the chimp smoking a cigar. Fret not, she told them, Stevenson is still upon his journey his quest if you will an ever-knowing hunt for the truth or whatever that is. No truth is the truth. Hang not onto your dire beliefs fools. They shall only cause you harm. Frame not the thoughts you see as righteous when in fact it’s truly paranoia manifested in the righteousness, a nefarious combo. She heats the water for the coffee and glances out the window two birds frolic on the rosemary bush. Are thy dancing or fighting or feeding maybe? They fly way in the morning mist. Miles away on the eastern plains of South Carolina,  a lone man walks highway 53. They say they could not see the color of his eyes. He looked everywhere at once but nowhere at the same.